


Of the Faithless

by rarelypoetic



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Involuntary Manslaughter, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, The Rising (In the Flesh), alive!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 130,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rarelypoetic/pseuds/rarelypoetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren Walker's life is derailed when his best friend Rick dies in Afghanistan. Depressed and ridden with guilt, Kieren only sees one way out: death. That's the original story, anyway. But what if Kieren's suicide attempt didn't quite go as planned? What if, instead of clawing his way out of the grave months later, Kieren never died in the first place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eyes that Vainly Crave the Light

Kieren heard the news on a Friday afternoon in May. He had just come home from one of his classes – one of the last before he was officially done with college. Jem was sitting at the dining room table with her head down when he walked in the front door.

“Hey,” he greeted her cheerfully, dropping his messenger bag on the sofa and stepping into the dining room. It took an instant for Kieren to determine that something was wrong. He walked around to where she was sitting and placed a hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into the muscle there. “What’s the matter?”

She lifted her head like it was encased in lead. “You didn’t hear?” Her eyes were bloodshot but sand dry. She was trying to be strong about this, whatever it was.

“Jem, you’re worrying me,” Kieren said, tilting his head and fixing a nervous smile on his face. Something twisted and coiled in his gut, a poisonous harbinger of bad news. “What’s up?”

“Rick’s dead,” she whispered, as if raising her voice would make the words sting any more. “Bill Macy’s gone and told the whole town his son is a war hero.”

The coil in Kieren’s gut abruptly unraveled and cracked like a whip; he nearly doubled-over with the force of it. He tasted bile, acrid on the back of his tongue, searing pain as he swallowed it down. 

“What?”

“Kier, I’m sorry, he’s… I know he meant a lot to you.”

“Meant a lot to me, yeah, he was…” Kieren paused and put a hand to his mouth, biting his tongue as hard as he could, trying so, so hard not to cry in front of his little sister. “He was my best friend,” Kieren finished finally, voice splintering on the last syllable.

He stood in silence for a moment, still biting his tongue, trying to keep himself from visibly trembling. Jem mirrored his earlier attempt to comfort her by squeezing Kieren’s shoulder as hard as she could. She rose from her chair and wrapped him in a tight hug, pressing her face into his bird’s nest hair like she used to when she was little after waking up from a particularly terrifying nightmare. From the moment she had been able to speak, the first person’s name she wailed after a bad dream had always been her older brother’s. It wasn’t “Dad” or “Mum”, and it never would be. Kieren had always been there for her, and now it was up to her to return the favor.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Jem suggested, guiding Kieren out of the kitchen like he didn’t know the way himself. They took the stairs slowly, because Kieren felt at any moment that his knees might buckle on him. By the time they got to his room, Kieren’s breathing was labored and stilted. Each successive breath he drew in felt thicker and thicker; it was like trying to inhale wet clay. Jem noticed him struggling and sat him down on the bed gingerly.

“Kier,” she said urgently. “Listen to me. You need to breathe. Take it slowly… that’s it. Sit up straight. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Kieren tried to follow her instructions but the tears in his eyes felt like lemon juice. His whole face burned with the scalding heat of them. The image of Jem in front of him was fuzzy around the edges, soft like an old memory. He felt strange and not-real sitting there. He sat there struggling for breath, eyes unseeing, for a long time before he was aware of his surroundings again. He came back to himself like the tug and snap of a rubber band, sudden and jarring, jerking in Jem’s grip. She startled for a moment, confused, before registering the gaunt look on his face.

It suddenly dawned on Kieren that she’d been chanting for the past five minutes, a steady mantra of:  
“In, out… in, out… in, out…” He hadn’t heard a single word of it. But he could breathe, suddenly, enough so that he could nod at her.

“I’m okay, Jem. I’m okay, really.”

He wasn’t. It didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears, but Jem was nonetheless relieved to see that he was responsive at all. She blew out a big breath that he had clearly been holding for a long time.

“Where are mum and dad?” Kieren asked after a beat of silence. Maybe if they changed the subject… maybe then he could feel that the entire world wasn’t trying to suffocate him for a moment.

“Dad’s still at work and mum’s over at the Macys’ giving her condolences. She wanted to wait until you got home, but she figured it might be best if you weren’t around Bill for a little while. You… know how he is.”

“That I do.” Kieren huffed a laugh that sounded like metal grating against itself. Jem covered her grimace with a put-on smile.

“If you want, I’ll go over there with you later when Bill’s out if you want to see Mrs. Macy,” she offered. This time when she smiled it was sympathetic and genuine, but Kieren felt no better for it.

“Sure,” he told her quietly. But he didn’t think he’d be leaving his room for a long time. “Can I just be alone for a while?” he added as an afterthought.

Jem hesitated. She exhaled deeply again, tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, and straightened her spine. She looked every part of the adult that she was trying to play. Bizarrely, Kieren thought just then that he was proud of her. “Are you sure you’re…?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kieren waved her off and tried to look as okay as he was pretending to be.

“Okay. I’m-- I’m right down the hall if you need me.” With that, she took her leave, closing the door on her way out like his mum always forgot to do.

Kieren sat there alone for what could’ve been a half hour before he peeled back his duvet and borrowed under it, hiding in the safety of his bed like he used to in the blanket forts he and Rick built together as children.

It was only as he started to drift off that he realised the jumper he was wearing that day was one that he’d borrowed from Rick. He’d taken to wearing it recently because he missed being close to Rick, missed sharing their space in the little cave they’d discovered years ago in primary school, missed laughing at his stupid jokes and getting angry for him whenever his dad was an arsehole (which was near one-hundred percent of the time). The few letters they’d swapped weren’t nearly enough for all they still had to say to each other. Fuck, he had already missed Rick for months. Knowing he had to miss him for the rest of his life… that was something else entirely.

-

The guilt came later. After the initial fog of misery had passed, depression sunk its greedy claws into Kieren’s heart and mind like it never had before. Kieren was never a particularly happy person, though his small group of friends at college might venture to call him “chipper” at times. While he was no stranger to depression, it was mostly a seasonal thing, and he’d always found that it eventually passed if he forced himself to draw and paint on a regular basis. Creating helped him peel back the layers, helped him see the world as new and not quite so hopeless again.

Now it was like he had been dropped into a corn maze in the dark with no torch. It was a familiar maze, one that he’d trodden before – just familiar enough that it taunted him. He could feel in his heart that there was a way out, but he could not for the life of him get anywhere close to finding it.

He finished college, but just barely. The last month was a haze of half-assed revision and excitement on behalf of his peers. Kieren himself could not muster an ounce of the happiness he experienced just a month before when he’d gotten the notice that he’d been accepted to art school. It was something he had wanted for at least a decade, and he felt nothing about it now. He felt like he was going nowhere.

His parents were concerned, but they still believed it would pass. In their usual fashion, they carried on sympathetically but mostly oblivious. Jem was more intuitive, and Kieren could tell that she knew something was deeply wrong with him. But what could she really do? For all she acted like an adult, she was still only a kid. She had already suggested he see someone, a therapist or a counselor or _anyone_ , for fuck’s sake, and he made idle promises to her that he knew he would never carry out. He didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. He just wanted his best friend – his life – back.

The worst part about it, the part that made him feel like this disconsolation was unsurpassable, was the fact that he knew in the very core of him that this was his fault. Four months ago, he was the one who suggested they hang out at Rick’s place, despite his protest that Bill would be home soon. He was the one who initiated the kiss. It wasn’t their first by any means, but it was the first that went beyond an innocent exploration of each other’s mouths. They both had their shirts off when Rick’s dad barged in. That night had been hell for both of them, but Kieren knew Rick had it worse than him by far. The Macys phoned the Walkers that night and informed Kieren’s parents that under no circumstances was Kieren Walker, Heathen of Heathens, allowed to be anywhere near their son anymore. Kieren had scoffed and sneered the whole way through the fight he had with his parents afterwards, but inside he was hurting desperately.

The next week Rick snuck a call to Kieren from a payphone in town. He told Kieren that yes, his dad had insisted, but in the end it was what he wanted too. He shipped out that next Saturday. That was the last time Kieren heard his voice.

-

Kieren knew that there were a lot of reasons why he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t remember them. The obvious one was that he was young - only 18 years old with his whole life ahead of him. Some might even say that he was talented. His art teacher had recommended him for a scholarship, which Kieren suspected was half the reason he had gotten into art school in the first place. Nevertheless, he had a spot waiting for him.

Rick had probably been proud of him. Kieren told him about the acceptance in one of the last letter’s he’d sent out. Somehow, knowing that he had a seemingly bright future ahead of him while Rick’s would never get a chance to unfold was that much worse.

There was also his family. Mum, who would be miserable at first but would manage to hold it together for her family; Dad, who would mourn in that quiet way of his and bury his feelings under heaps of Blu-rays; Jem, who would no doubt miss him, maybe never forgive him for leaving her.

The damndest part was that Kieren couldn’t bring himself to recognize these as reasons to stay. Yes, he had people who loved him. Yes, he was young and talented and liable to live a charmed life. But none of that mattered, because under all those reasons was the incessant thrum of _it was my fault it was my fault my fault myfaultmyfaultmyfault_ and he couldn’t escape it no matter how many mornings he ensconced himself in a blanket cocoon and refused to get out of bed.

He spent a long week concocting elaborate plans in his head, but all of them seemed too ridiculous or too painful or too impossible. He didn’t have access to a gun, couldn’t properly tie a noose, and there was no place in Roarton that was high enough to jump from. On the last day, a Friday five weeks after he’d heard about Rick, Kieren was shoving things into his closet – he didn’t want to leave a mess behind for his parents – when he tripped over one of his old hiking backpacks. In the front pocket was a swiss army knife his dad had given him on his tenth birthday. That summer had been a good one; they’d delayed his birthday celebration a few months and turned it into a camping excursion which had ended in poison ivy for his dad and a spider bite for Kieren which was swollen for weeks. They’d had a good time though, toasting marshmallows and spending nights trying to scare each other with ridiculous horror stories.

Kieren felt a withering smile lighten his countenance for a moment before the memory slipped away. His eyes strayed to the knife. It was still razor sharp; Kieren had scarcely used it for more than cutting a can of beans open. He pocketed it quickly, expecting to feel shame blister like a disease where his palm touched the hilt. He waited, and when nothing came, he stood and quietly resumed packing away the rest of his belongings. In the midst of his working he came across the box where he kept all of his personal items, most of which were pictures of him and Rick. There were letters, too, but Kieren didn’t feel stable enough to re-read them. Instead he tucked a picture of Rick into his pea coat and continued on.

He finished just before dinner time. Jem was upstairs playing a video game, his dad was at work, and his mum would still be cooking. He held his breath and slipped out the side door unnoticed.

It took him ten minutes to reach the clearing where their cave was. What better place to have privacy? If he had gone here with Rick the day Bill Macy came home early, maybe Rick would still be here. Still be alive, that is.

Kieren swallowed the gluey saliva in his throat and reached into his pocket to squeeze the swiss army knife. He approached the cave like it might swallow him alive at any moment. There were tears in his eyes now, the type that wouldn’t stop spilling no matter how often he wiped them away.

The inside of the cave was as cool and dank as he remembered, except emptier now. Kieren sat in their usual spot, where “Ren + Rick 4ever” was scrawled in chicken scratch on the rock wall. It was a stupid, semi-ironic decision that had seemed like a good idea the night of their first kiss. A part of their history would exist here forever. The thought was almost comforting. He twirled the knife between his fingers for a moment before flipping it open and studying the blade. His reflection was distorted in the silver. He was just a skinny, pale boy with huge bloodshot eyes and salt-encrusted cheeks. A worthless little thing, really.

With that vicious conviction, he gripped the hilt tightly and pressed the blade just above his left wrist. He traced the path it would take a few times before taking a steadying breath. His hands were shaking badly, so much so that he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to cut deeply enough on the first try.

He steeled himself. With his eyes fixed firmly on “Ren + Rick 4ever”, he dug the blade into his flesh and watched as his blood welled to the surface, viscous and red as death.

-

Several hundred yards away, a man stumbled through the thick underbrush with a baggie in one hand and a syringe in the other. He’d tried to stave off the craving, he really had, but with his dad kicking him out and his old dealer following him through his hometown like a shadow, it was only a matter of time before he broke.

He’d never really had much of a will to survive in the first place. His dad already thought he was a loser. Might as well seal the deal, he figured. Take himself off of his parent’s “Thing to Worry About” list for good. The whole piece of shit world was damned and he was _angry_ about it.

If he were braver, maybe he would have already shot himself with his dad’s .45. But he wasn’t brave at all, and even now a tiny part of him hoped that he didn’t have enough heroin on him to overdose. He crouched on a particularly dense patch of grass and began to roll his sleeves up when an ugly sound in the distance made him pause. At first he thought it might be an animal caught in a bear trap, but then the sound came again and he held his breath.

It stopped for a second and then started again as curdled sort of scream, soft at first and then rising a few octaves until it was a high-pitched keen. The sound of someone in pain, he realised. A desperate amount of pain, by the sound of it. Fuck. _Fuck_. He dropped the syringe and took off at a run towards the noise. 

He almost missed the cave at first glance, nestled as it was in a thicket of bushes and tall trees. The noise, which had faded into a wet gasp, was louder here; he was close. By the time he made it to the mouth of the cave he was panting like a dog. The afternoon sun illuminated just enough of the path for him to notice that he had stepped into a puddle of something at the mouth of the cave. He sniffed the air, thought _metallic_ , and realised he was standing in a small well of blood. His heart lurched sickeningly at the realisation, but his feet propelled him faster. He was moving so quickly he almost tripped over the body when he came across it.

It was a boy – a boy who was completely ignoring him in favor of trying to reach the knife which had presumably tumbled out of his clumsy grasp. He saw why. The boy’s left wrist was gouged deeply – it was the source of the blood that Simon had tracked a good ten feet across the cave.

He immediately dropped to his knees and kicked the knife out of his reach. The boy looked up at him, finally, with panicked brown eyes and a snarl on his lips. He was gritting his teeth to keep another scream from rattling out of his chest.

“Hey,” he said soothingly, gripping the boy’s undamaged wrist in his hand. “Stop it! Stop struggling. Calm down. I’m here now. I’m going to help you.”

The boy looked down at his own wrist slowly, eyes glazed like he wasn’t even sure of what he was seeing. He shrugged his jumper over his head while the boy was distracted and tore a piece of fabric from the hem, using it as a makeshift tourniquet.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he repeated mindlessly. The boy’s mouth trembled finely. He closed his eyes and knocked his head back against the wall of the cave, breathing shallow and sluggish.

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed the emergency number, relaying the situation to the operator as quickly as possible. She promised someone would be on their way immediately. While he waited the few excruciating minutes until help arrived, he talked.

“Stay with me, you hear? Don’t you dare fall asleep.” He shook the boy’s shoulders until his eyes fluttered open again.

“Do you have a name?” The boy’s eyes began to close again and he slapped him across the cheek as hard as he dared.

“… Ren. M’Kieren,” the boy murmured, snapping back into wakefulness. He gathered Kieren close to his chest to keep him warm. The boy made a soft, whining sound as he put pressure on the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he murmured absently, stroking a thumb across the boys fluttering pulse. “Kieren,” he breathed. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but you’re gonna be just fine. You just have to stay awake a little while longer, okay?”

Kieren squinted up at him to focus his rapidly blurring sight. “Who’re you?” he slurred.

“My name’s Simon.”

Kieren turned his head away, coughing to clear his raw throat and feeling his peripheral vision blacken with the force of it. “Well, I wish you hadn’t, Simon…” He closed his eyes and didn’t reopen them. “I wish you hadn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: 1. I am American, so if I do anything wrong (I almost definitely will) or the vernacular is, like, _horribly_ off, please let me know and give me suggestions for improvement.
> 
> 2\. Title inspired by Walt Whitman's poem, "O Me! O Life!". 
> 
> 3\. if you want to talk to me about In the Flesh, please, please do at excaliburcas.tumblr.com
> 
> 4\. This is a chaptered story and as such, it is likely that the rating will change to explicit at some point.


	2. Little Vacancies

Simon had spent all 27 years of his existence thinking that life was inherently useless, a pitiless stretch of time in which every day was spent languishing, thirsting for a higher purpose when in truth there wasn’t one and never had been. Life to him was a means to an end, so he wasted it. Squandered it with alcohol at first, and then quickly moved on to drugs. He barely slept, and he when he did, it was fitful and fleeting. Every day he was increasingly stifled, boxed in his own head, trying in vain to scratch the whole-body phantom itch that plagued him every night before bed. He felt suffocated.

Then he met Kieren - broken, bleeding Kieren with huge wet eyes and elegant artist’s hands soaked in their own blood. And suddenly, after a lifetime of asphyxiating, he felt like he could breathe.

Simon knew it wasn’t a good idea to get attached to the boy. He told himself he’d just drop by the hospital and see how the poor kid was doing. After all, the paramedics had taken him away in quite a hurry, and he’d never gotten a chance to hear about his condition, or even whether or not he was going to make it... but something told Simon that he would. Kieren, despite being in the state he had been when he found him, looked like he had the kind of fortitude that Simon could never find within himself. The kind you read about in hero’s tales and wish you could selfishly covet, the kind Simon had always searched for in others - in the destitute streets of his hometown and in America. 

Simon visited the hospital on a Wednesday about two days after the incident. It wasn’t at all hard to find Kieren, seeing as Roarton was a small town with very few amenities. There was only one hospital nearby, and it was a twenty minute ride by train. He got there mid-afternoon. 

It was a tiny hospital with only three floors and a handful of people in the waiting room. The lady at the front desk wasn’t too thrilled to see him. It probably had something to do with the fact that he was wearing the same clothes he’d had on for days now, and the sleeve of his jumper was still torn from where he ripped it to make a tourniquet for Kieren. A quick glance at his arm confirmed the fact that there was still dried blood there too, though it was flaking off by now. His dark hair was greasy and unkempt and there were bags like bruises under his pale eyes. Overall, he looked a complete mess. His own mother would be horrified. 

“I’m, er, looking for someone,” Simon said tentatively. 

“Can you give me a name, Sir?” 

“Kieren? I’m not sure of his surname. He came in a few days ago for a suicide attempt.” 

“What is your relation to him?” She asked it politely, but the telltale tightening around her eyes told Simon all he needed to know. 

“I... I was the one who found him, actually. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Maybe talk to his family.”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t usually--” she broke off mid-sentence when an older man walked out from the adjoining cafe with a bowl of something steaming in his hands. The lady, whose name tag said ‘Rose’, sighed long-sufferingly. “Oi, Mr Walker, would you come here for a moment?” 

The man in question looked up at this, brow furrowed and eyes vacant. He looked deeply troubled, and he walked over to the front desk as though in a trance. “There a problem ‘ere, Rose?” 

“This is Kieren’s father,” Rose said. After a long moment of silence, she gestured to Simon and said, “Well, introduce yourself.”

“I’m Simon Monroe. I’m... I’m the one who found your son the other night. I just thought... well, I don’t know, but I...” Simon trailed off clumsily as Mr Walker’s eyes began to grow shiny with unshed tears. He stuck out a hand very suddenly and Simon stared dumbly for a moment before taking it in his own and shaking. 

“Name’s Steve Walker,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes stubbornly. “Thank you. Thank you for saving my boy.” 

Simon wasn’t sure “you’re welcome” was the appropriate thing to say in such a situation, so he kept his mouth shut and nodded politely like his Catholic upbringing had taught him. 

“Are you here to see him?” Steve asked eventually.

“I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” said Simon, feeling rather imposing. “If he’s well enough.” 

“Oh, he can certainly handle visitors,” Steve remarked with a strained smile. “Folks from town have been in and out of his room ever since they heard the news. Never know how many mates you have until a close call like this, I s’pose.” 

“Right,” Simon said haltingly. 

“Well, if you’re ready, you can follow me up to his room...” Steve gave Rose a half-smile over his shoulder. “Ta, Rose.” 

Rose nodded and gave Simon one last, scrutinizing appraisal before turning back to her desk duties.

Simon trailed after Steve with a sense a profound sense of apprehension. By the time they got there, room 306 on the top story, Simon felt like he had a stone lodged firmly in his gut. What if he’d made a terrible mistake by coming here? What were the chances Kieren would be even slightly willing to receive him? Simon had stopped him from achieving something which he himself had courted for years: death, the only peace there was in the world. And he had stolen it away from Kieren.

An insidious little voice in Simon’s head whispered that if someone were to save him from his own suicide attempt, he might never forgive them for it. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t--” Simon started, but Steve was already pushing the door open.

Inside, the first thing he noticed was the scent of stale air and antiseptic. The second was the bed in the middle of the room, which looked massive compared to the slight boy lying in it. In the light, Kieren looked even smaller than he had that night in the cave. But he was fiercer somehow, too. He didn’t look as catatonic as Simon had expected him to look, but there was something empty in his eyes, the same vacancy Simon had seen in Kieren’s father.

Kieren was bundled in wispy hospital sheets and had wires attached to him from every side. One was the heart monitor, which beeped steadily and reassuring, the other an IV drip. Kieren looked up at his arrival but kept his expression carefully blank.

“This is Simon,” Steve announced to the room at large. He glanced back at Simon and gave him a reassuring smile before heading over to the corner of the room, where Simon belatedly realised there were two other people sitting. There was an older woman who must have been Kieren’s mother, and a young girl, probably around 14 or so, who was likely his sister. The younger girl’s teary eyes were entirely at odds with the unadulterated wrath in her expression, like at any moment she was prepared to take up arms and march into battle. She refused to meet Simon’s eyes.

Kieren’s mother, on the other hand, acknowledged his presence with a limp wave and tepid smile before turning to her husband and engaging in a hushed conversation. Simon tried not to eavesdrop, but he noticed Steve gesture to him once or twice and realised that he was probably explaining who he was.

After a moment, Kieren’s mother rose and walked over to him, her whole face flushed. “I’m Sue,” she told Simon. She lifted her arm as though to shake his hand, seemed to think better of it, and then pulled him into an impromptu hug, instead. It was brief, but Simon could feel her gratitude like a physical entity in the room.

“Thank you,” Sue whispered into Simon’s shoulder. She pulled away, brushed imaginary lint off her blouse, and looked at him like he was a marvel. Simon shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, glad when it was interrupted by an apprehensive voice in the center of the room.

“Mum, Dad,” Kieren hesitated for a moment, “Jem. Could you leave us alone for a moment? I want to speak with him.” He didn’t say Simon’s name, but it was clear who he meant by the pointed gaze he directed at him.

All three of Kieren’s family members wore identical hesitant expressions. Steve looked like he was about a second away from protesting, but Sue grabbed his hand in her own and gently prodded him towards the door. Jem looked almost affronted, like who the hell was Simon to have a moment alone with her brother, but she eventually relented when Sue turned around and gave her a sharp glance.

Then they were gone, and the room suddenly seemed smaller even though they were alone in it.

“So,” Kieren said. “You saved my life, then.”

“Yes,” Simon replied, at a loss. He thought back to all of those times he’d spoken in church – that one memorable occasion when he’d given an impassioned speech at his Aunt May’s funeral and made everyone (even those who were just there as a courtesy) cry – and wondered what had happened to his silver tongue. Usually he was better with words.

“If you’re expecting me to be grateful—“

“No,” Simon rushed to say. “No, that’s not it. I understand. I know you didn’t ask for this. I know what it’s like to want something so badly and then to have someone steal it away from you.”

Kieren looked stricken at this. His mouth snapped shut. Simon suspected no one had empathized with him yet. Wanting to kill yourself was a hard thing to understand objectively, he supposed. Nearly impossible if you’d never been depressed before. Kieren had probably already had several visitors from Roarton who treated him like he was as fragile as his mum’s good china – like at any moment he might self-destruct and shatter into pieces in front of them. People tended to treat you gently and with some degree of distance when they felt that your mental health was unpredictable. Simon was rather familiar with that himself after a few stints in rehab.

“Before I came here I was almost sorry that I’d stopped you, because I’ve been there. Hell, I was planning to overdose that very same night. But now, seeing you here alive, I can’t say I’m sorry anymore.”

 _You saved me, too_ , Simon didn’t say.

Kieren drew in a sharp breath and Simon continued, “I’m glad you’re okay, Kieren.”

Kieren’s whole face seemed to crumple at this. He tucked his chin into his hospital gown and choked, “I’m not okay, though, am I?”

Simon took a step forward and Kieren looked up at him with those same wet eyes, only narrowed in anger now, and spat, “I’m not okay! Look at me, Simon. I mean _really_ look at me.”

Simon did. Kieren was breathing so hard that his chest heaved. His cheeks were flushed an endearing shade of pink. Every movement looked like a great effort; he’d probably lost enough blood to still be feeling dizzy. His golden hair was in complete disarray. Stringy wayward locks of it framed his sharp cheekbones and fell into his huge, dark eyes. Only his drawn brow and the grim set of his mouth betrayed his absolute defiance. Simon wasn’t sure what he was fighting so hard against, but it had to be something big. Kieren was beautiful in a way that Simon felt unprepared for.

Simon rested his hand over Kieren’s and hoped to convey the words through touch rather than speech, not wanting to further upset him. Kieren’s hand was cold as death and clammy. His other hand was tucked securely into his side, and only now did Simon see the countless layers of gauze that were wrapped around that wrist. He drew his eyes away quickly, swallowing.

Kieren grew still at the contact but tolerated it silently nonetheless. When Simon noticed how unresponsive he was, he took his hand away at once and slipped it into his pocket guiltily. He wished there was a way he could offer this boy some measure of comfort or peace.

They shared a few minutes of quiet before it was ruptured by the soft _snick_ of the door opening. Steve poked his head in and scanned his eyes over the placid scene.

“All good in ‘ere?”

“Actually, Simon was just heading out,” Kieren answered before Simon could get a word in.

“Oh,” Steve said. He propped open the door more widely and Simon walked over on autopilot, feeling very abruptly like he was completely disconnected from his own body. Sue brushed past him on his way out and squeezed his shoulder.

“It was nice of you to come, Simon,” Sue said warmly. Jem, the younger girl, kept right on ignoring him. She didn’t look particularly angry anymore, just exhausted, like she had resigned herself to living in a waking nightmare from which there was no chance of reprieve.

Steve echoed Sue’s sentiments as they all filed back into the hospital room. As the door swung closed behind him, Simon began to walk away. He felt Kieren’s eyes watching him and it was like a physical weight on his back until he rounded the corner to the elevator bank and was out of sight.

Aimless, Simon took the train back to Roarton and trudged his way over the bridge and into the residential area. It was a quiet, homely little town, but something about its ostensible tranquility seemed almost sinister now that it was nearing sunset. There wasn’t a living soul in sight.

Simon sighed and headed over to the B&B where he’d been staying the past few nights. He wasn’t too fond of the nosy owner – Sandra, he thought her name was – but it was clean and it suited his purposes just fine. Tomorrow he would explore a bit and see if there were any places for rent around town. He wasn’t sure exactly what compelled him to stay here, but he had nowhere else to go; this place was as good as any.

That night as he slept, Simon dreamt of two distinct things. The first was darkness, so encompassing and complete that it felt like Oblivion. He succumbed to it quickly and was insensate but for the smell of earth all around him, pungent and bitter on the back of his tongue. The second was a pair of eyes, so luminescent in the pitch black that it almost hurt to look at them.

When he woke up the next morning he remembered only the irises, white as bone and staring vacantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you completely forgot or didn't read the author's note at the end of the first chapter, I'm going to reiterate a few things at the risk of sounding redundant:
> 
> 1\. I regret to inform you all that I am still American, so again if I've made any mistakes (I almost certainly have) I absolutely welcome your constructive criticism/corrections. I'd like to keep this as authentic as possible, so I'm trying not to slip into American English (which is not as easy as it sounds). 
> 
> 2\. I'm still over at excaliburcas.tumblr.com so if you want to cry about how much you love kieren and/or simon and/or amy or you want to brainstorm headcanons w/ me pls hmu
> 
> 3\. Holy shit. Thank you all SO MUCH for your feedback on the first chapter. It's because of you that I wrote this chapter so quickly. Desppite the ITF fandom being so relatively new, it's absolutely amazing. I'm fucking excited to contribute to it in any small way I can.


	3. A Grave End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: minor character death & mentions of canonical character death.

Kieren hadn’t slept in days. A long time spent in hospital will do that to someone. There was the awful stink of the dying all day long, to start with. And then there were the sounds at night - sometimes screaming from the psych ward downstairs, sometimes anxious voices over the loudspeaker at 2 am yelling about coloured codes that Kieren wasn’t privy to. Then there were the check-ins, every hour on the hour at first and then eventually ebbing to just a few times a day. On suicide watch, you become quite well acquainted with the night nurses. 

There was one nurse in particular, Kathy, who always brought him extra pudding and would sometimes spend time with him on her breaks. She told bad jokes and would sometimes talk for an hour straight about her new family - a one year old daughter and a husband she’d married just out of university- but she was only a handful of years older than Kieren and she had a wide, crooked-tooth smile and a laugh that reminded him of Jem. Kieren’s family, of course, came to visit him regularly in the hospital, but when he was shipped to the group treatment facility for a few days, their visits dwindled to once or twice a week at the recommendation of the facility’s head psychologist, who thought Kieren needed some time away from familiar faces in order to reorient himself. He was half-right. Kieren wasn’t very good at dealing with isolation, but on the other hand, it was his lack of familial interaction that led Kieren to meet a new friend. 

Her name was Amy. She was sweet and lively and had big brown eyes that could charm Kieren into just about anything. She was funny in an almost unintentional way. Sometimes she said and did things that completely baffled Kieren. On their second night of knowing one another, she somehow snuck into his room at night and proposed a sleep-over. They spent nearly two hours swapping ridiculous stories, the worst of which involved nine cats and Amy’s grandmother. Kieren was nearly choking on his spit with laughter when two orderlies barged in and chased Amy away. The next day at group therapy she kissed him on the cheek and announced to the lot of them that Kieren was her new “BFF” (a term which Kieren would have heavily scoffed at anyone else using in the past). When he was with her, Kieren almost forgot why he was in treatment in the first place. He was able to think about something other than Rick for a few minutes. For that, he cherished Amy. 

But she was also dying. Leukemia, she told him. She said it about as cheerily as she said anything else, but there was a darkness in her eyes that Kieren could hardly begin to fathom. It was unfair. If anyone deserved to live, it was Amy. Why did people like him get a second chance when people like Amy had to suffer? Kieren knew Amy would hate him thinking that way, though, so he studiously kept those thoughts to himself and made the most of their short time together. In the two weeks they spent together, Kieren progressively got better at putting up a facade. If he had learned anything in therapy, it was that publicly wallowing in your own misery would earn you a life-long ticket to places like this. If he wanted to be released back into the real world, he had to learn how to cope with his misery in a way that others wouldn’t be able to detect. 

Kieren got good enough at hiding under layers and layers of put-on cheer that they released him after two weeks. He was almost upset when they told him he was stable enough to go home. It would be strange to go back. He would miss Amy. She wasn’t getting any better. The sole reason she was even in the facility was to cope with the reality that she didn’t have much time left to live. The doctors had given up on treating her about a month ago. There was nothing else they could do, Amy said. The cancer was aggressive. The prognosis was that she had a few weeks left at most. Kieren said goodbye to her with a hug and a promise to write because Amy was old-fashioned like that and refused his invitation to call or text. 

When Kieren finally got home, he felt like a ghost in his own room. He had only been gone for a month, but his belongings already felt like they were coated in a layer or two of dust. Everything had an aged quality to it, faded around the edges and decaying like an old photograph. He felt wrong lying there on his bed, wrong hanging his clothes in his closet, wrong picking up his charcoals and scribbling nonsense onto weathered parchment. It was hard to explain, but if he had to try, he’d say he felt like an anachronism in his own life. Something that didn’t quite fit in this timeline. Something that jarred against reality and wasn’t meant to exist.

At home, Kieren started to have nightmares. Of course, he’d had his fair share of bad dreams in life, so these were not entirely unprecedented... but they _were_ distinctly unusual. The dreams always started with darkness. He’s open his eyes are was aware of being in a room; though he could not see anything, he could inexplicably sense the four walls enclosing the space, trapping him. The first thing Kieren would try to do was find a light switch. He’d run his fingers along the wall, scrabbling blindly for any hint of the familiar fixture. And eventually he would give up. No matter how many times he’d had the same dream, the sequence always played the same from then on. 

With an increasing sense of dread, Kieren would look up - there, right above him, was a dangling light switch. He made a grab at it, and when he could feel the pull-chain resting in his palm, gave it a sharp tug. There was a hollow _click_ , and then nothing. The light would not turn on. 

Some months ago, Kieren had read an article on a dark corner of the internet which had claimed that the way you knew you were dreaming was if you tried to turn on a light and nothing happened. If the lights were already on in the dream, this was nothing to worry about, but if they weren’t...

It was at this point that Kieren would become abruptly self-aware. He’d feel a stabbing hollowness behind his ribs, as though some unnameable force were trying to gouge out his entire chest cavity with a toothpick. Then the floor fell out from beneath his feet. He recalled falling an endless, incalculable distance before his body eventually jolted within the impact of landing. He would always wake up at this point, struggling to draw air into his lungs. His mouth tasted bitter and gritty like he had soil stuck between his teeth. 

The nightmares went on for another two weeks. At this point Kieren was so sleep deprived that when the nice nurse from the hospital called to tell him that Amy had died in her sleep, Kieren didn’t even have the energy to cry. He sat at the edge of his bed with his hands clenched into fists and his eyes closed, reliving every agonizing second of the day Jem told him Rick was dead. 

His parents called him down to dinner and he told them quietly that he would be attending his friend Amy’s funeral on Thursday. He and Amy hadn’t specifically discussed whether or not he should go when the time came, but Kieren knew she would have been disappointed if he passed it up. She had remarked once that she wanted her funeral to be like a party; one final, grand send-off to befit her lively nature. Kieren didn’t believe in an afterlife, but he found himself hoping that there was something _else_ out there for Amy, wherever she was. 

\- 

Amy’s funeral was hard on Kieren. All of her relatives in the area were dead, and the friends she did have were old, loyal ones who traded stories of her life back and forth for hours. Kieren didn’t have much to contribute; he’d only known her for a couple of weeks, after all. The funeral service was full of laughter and tears in equal measure. They mourned her and celebrated her simultaneously. 

Later, everyone went silent as the soil began to pile on top of the open grave. Kieren swallowed. It felt all wrong somehow, like they were snuffing out a flame that had barely gotten the chance to burn as brightly as it could have. After a few last words were said in commemoration, people began to shuffle out one by one. 

Kieren stayed behind. He couldn’t quite name the reason, but something inside him urged him not to leave. He sat on the plot of fresh soil and dug his fingers into his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. The sound of faint whistling behind him startled Kieren out of his reverie. He turned his head and squinted into the distance, where a tall figure was drifting amongst the silhouetted tombstones. The air was thick with fog, but he could just make out the outline of the figure’s profile. It was a man with a sharp nose and sloppy stubble, shaggy brown hair flopping into his eyes with every step. Kieren felt his heart seize for a second before resuming its natural rhythm.

In the hospital, many people from town had visited. There were friends of the family, which Kieren had half-expected. There were people like Ken Burton, his kindly old neighbor who was still grief-stricken with the recent loss of his wife, Maggie. Ken had always been nice to the Walkers, and Maggie had even babysat Kieren once or twice as a child. Then there were others, like Dean Halton. Dean was sat least five years older than Kieren, but he sometimes still acted like a child. He’d never been particularly nice to Kieren, but had nonetheless come to pay his respects to the Walker family in his shuffling, awkward manner. Kieren could count the townspeople who hadn’t come to visit on one hand. 

One of the them was Gary Kendal. 

Though Gary was smarter, Dean was a saint compared to him. Gary had always been a bit of a deadbeat. He was religious, but he rarely went to church. Instead he ceaselessly roamed Roarton like a bloodhound chasing an invisible threat. He had been the one to suggest a neighborhood watch party on account of ‘suspicious activity’ in the forest. Kieren thought he’d just had one too many drinks of cider on his nightly endeavours. 

Beyond what he’d heard in town, Kieren didn’t know much about him. His few personal encounters with Gary had all been unpleasant; once, he caught Kieren and Rick holding hands on the bridge and sneered ‘queers’ as he walked past; another time, he knocked his shoulder into Kieren at the Save ‘n’ Shop hard enough that he stumbled into a rack of soup cans. 

And now here was late in the evening at Roarton cemetery, traipsing about the place like it was his. Eventually, he caught sight of Kieren and began to head his way. Kieren wasn’t scared of him so much as he was annoyed. He rolled his eyes and tucked his chin between his knees, hoping this ordeal would pass quickly enough. 

“Oi, Walker,” Gary called, stumbling over. “That you?” 

Kieren sighed, long-suffering. “I’m not looking for any trouble, Gary.”

Gary was close enough now that Kieren could see his unfriendly grin in the graying light of sunset. His eyes were unfocused and far-away; he must’ve been pissed off his head. “No trouble,” he promised insincerely. “Just wanted to know what you’re doing out here so late.”

Kieren held up his hands non-threateningly, palms empty. “I’ve just been to a funeral, though it’s not particularly your business.” 

“Oh? Whose?” he goaded, voice entirely absent of concern.

“Fuck off, Gary.” 

“It’s not another one of your boyfriends, is it? I heard what happened to the last one.” His smile widened until it was shark-like.

Kieren tensed and bit his tongue. _No trouble_ , he repeated to himself. Besides, he was tired. Funerals always did a number on him.

“Ah, tongue-tied, are ya? Well, don’t worry. You won’t be alone forever. Unless of course you try to off yourself again.” He spoke as lightly as though he were telling a joke. “Heard about that, too.” 

“Why are you picking a fight with me, Gary?” Kieren got to his feet. Standing, he was about two or three inches taller. He certainly wasn’t bulkier, but Gary was swaying on his feet slightly, so intoxicated he could barely hold himself up. 

“Because boys like you make me sick,” Gary sneered, poking a grubby finger into Kieren’s chest. “You’re about as resilient as a house fly. Don’t even got the bollocks to tough out life with the rest of us.” 

Kieren grit his teeth and slapped Gary’s hand away hard enough that it stung. Gary took a moment to look affronted before he lent forward and shoved Kieren with all of his weight. Kieren tripped backwards for a second before steadying himself. 

“Says the man whose sole purpose in life is to stumble around in a drunken stupor every night assaulting people with his exhausted rhetoric. What exactly are you doing with _your_ life, Gary?” 

Gary swung his fist forward to hit him, but his movements were clumsy and Kieren easily dodged it. This only seemed to incense him further. Gary charged at him with renewed vigor, this time pushing Kieren in the chest hard enough that he fell flat on his arse. Kieren normally considered himself somewhat of a pacifist, but at this point fighting back would be self-defense. You didn’t use words to reason with guys like Gary. 

Gary kicked out blindly, and Kieren used that moment of imbalance to stick out his leg and trip him. Gary lost his footing and tilted backwards. It happened very slowly. Kieren heard the crack his skull made on the nearby headstone before his brain caught up with the scene before him. 

It was dark now, and it was only by the shred of moonlight slanting out from behind the clouds did Kieren catch a glimpse of Gary’s blood slicking the stone, wetting the fresh soil above Amy’s grave. He scrambled forward on his knees and held a finger under Gary’s nose. There was nothing, but still Kieren could not believe it. With an increasing sense of dread, he moved his fingertips along where Gary’s pulse-point should be, and felt nothing but the awful stillness of unyielding flesh.

There was bile in Kieren’s throat, but a distant part of him realised it would not be wise to throw up so close to the body. He ran, trying to swallow it down, feeling such an intense sting of guilt that it almost brought him to his knees. His thoughts were so incoherent that he lost track of where he was. There weren’t many streetlights in Roarton, so everyone mostly found their way around at night by familiarity with the area. 

But nothing was familiar to Kieren right then except for the lingering sight and smell of Gary’s still-warm blood. Just a month ago Kieren had nearly bled out, but seeing someone elses’ blood pooling at his feet made him sick. He ran until his lungs seized in his chest and he had to stumble into a lurching walk. By then he was coughing harshly into his fists, desperately trying to draw in a full breath. 

As a child, he'd had asthma. He’d mostly grown out of it as he went through puberty, but sometimes he still had little fits like this after pushing himself too far. He was still heaving when he felt a big hand land on his shoulder. Kieren froze, eyes snapping open. He half-expected to turn and see Gary there with his skull-cracked open and another venomous retort on the tip of his tongue. Instead when he turned Kieren saw that his feet had taken him to a shadowy area just a few yards away from Furness’ B&B. Kieren saw the person he was least expecting. 

Simon stood before him with stringy black hair and a lit cigarette in the hand that wasn’t touching Kieren. When he saw the look on his face, he quickly stubbed out the cigarette and brought his other hand to Kieren’s shoulder to steady him. 

“Hey,” Simon said soothingly. “Look at me.” 

Kieren couldn’t bring himself to, so instead Simon pushed gently on his shoulders to clear his airway and breathed in and out calmly. “You’re hyperventilating. Here, match my breathing. Slowly now.”

Kieren struggled at first, feeling panicked as his lungs ached and black spots fringed the edges of his vision, but he pushed all thought out of his mind and focused on Simon. Gradually, his diaphragm stopped seizing and he was able to breathe in evenly for the first time in several minutes. 

“Thank you,” Kieren managed. He knew his face must have crumpled in that moment, because Simon’s fingers dug harder into his shoulders. 

“Look at me,” he repeated more firmly. Kieren reluctantly met his eyes this time and blanched at the concern he saw there. It was only then that he realised that Simon’s hands were trembling finely against him, and his skin looked even more waxen than it had on the night he found Kieren. 

“Your hands,” Kieren started, choosing to focus on what was right in front of him rather than the horrific  
thing he had done.

“Oh.” Simon looked down at them like he’d forgotten they were attached to him. “Withdrawal,” he explained somewhat sheepishly. 

Kieren felt a chill go through him. He must have quit somewhere around the time he visited Kieren at the hospital. 

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked. It was clear from his tone that he was looking to cut right to the heart of the matter. 

“It was a mistake,” Kieren said numbly. He didn’t know what else to tell him.

“What was?” Simon asked. “If you tell me, I’ll do what I can to help you.” 

“I don’t want your help. I-- it’s my fault. I deserve...” Kieren was abruptly sick to his stomach. He tasted bile again and found that this time he couldn’t keep it down. Simon knew the look on his face; he guided him over to a thick thatch of bushes and left a warm, shaky hand on his back as Kieren emptied the entire contents of his stomach in one go. If Sandra Furness knew he’d just vomited on her property, she’d not hesitate in slaughtering him. 

Kieren’s ears were ringing. It took him a long time to realise Simon had been calling his name for quite some time now. 

“Do you want me to call your parents?” he asked when he saw he’d gotten Kieren’s attention.

It was still early. Kieren flushed and shook his head. Simon probably thought he was an utter disaster. A foolish child at best. The first time they’d met had been enough of a mess, the second not much better, and now... now Kieren noted with a sense of detachment that he was crying, and that the hand on his back had started to rub in small, gentle circles. 

“Talk to me,” Simon urged.

Kieren took a deep breath but it did not stop the tears. “I did something awful.” 

Simon nudged him and began to walk in the direction of the forest, sensing the need for privacy. They walked a few paces into the thick underbrush and stopped when they could no longer see the light coming from the occupied rooms in the B&B. Kieren took a seat on a flat rock and Simon knelt on the ground beside him. 

“I’m sorry,” Kieren began. He glanced at Simon. “I don’t want to drag you into this.”

“Kieren, whatever it is... I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me.” Simon was almost _too_ earnest. His blue eyes looked silver in the moonlight. 

“There was-- a funeral today. For my friend Amy.” God, it all seemed like it had happened ages ago. “I stayed afterwards at her grave for a while. Couldn’t bring myself to leave, I suppose.” 

Simon nodded like he understood. Kieren felt his stomach turning over. “Around sunset this guy from town showed up at the cemetery. Gary Kendal. Do you know him?”

“I met him my second day here when I was looking for a place to stay. Not the nicest bloke.” 

Kieren grimaced. “We’ve never had a very good rapport, but tonight was particularly bad. He was blind drunk so he pushed me around more than usual. At one point he knocked me to the ground, and I was so angry I...” Kieren’s chest tightened. “I tripped him so I could get away. He fell back and hit his head on the tombstone. There was a lot of blood. I-- It was too late. I couldn’t-- I couldn’t _do_ anything. I--” 

Kieren turned his eyes to the sky and confessed. “I _killed_ him, Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to pretend that this is where I originally planned to take the story. The writing kind of just led me here. I'm trying to make to weave in different elements of canon while telling my own story, but let me tell you: storytelling is _hard_. Every decision I make is centered around one question: if Kieren hadn't died, what would be different? But there are some major things I'm adding that haven't popped up in the show, like the nightmares, Gary's death, Simon coming to Roarton on his own, etc. 
> 
> I really don't know what else to say other than :
> 
> 1\. con-crit or really any comment at all is very welcome. 
> 
> 2\. if you want to yell at me do so @ excaliburcas.tumblr.com
> 
> 3\. Get saddled up for the Rising, kids, because it's coming soon.


	4. Faith

As a child, Simon had been exceptionally sensitive. The kids in his year poked fun at him because they thought that he just couldn’t take a joke, but it was more than that. Simon wasn’t so concerned about his own ego as he was about the feelings of others. Little things, like a kid getting pushed around on the playground or an older classmate talking down to underclassmen, made him feel vicious and helpless and raw all over. When he was very young - around six or seven - he wanted to take this anger and turn it into something constructive and useful, maybe even help a few people. Once, he tried to express this to his parents in fumbling, ineloquent kid-speak, but his dad promptly laughed in that patronizing way adults always do and said, “Lofty dreams for a little lad, eh?” 

Simon hadn’t brought it up again. He instead idly watched the injustice in the world and felt paralyzed by it, sicker with each day. As he grew older, his anger slowly metamorphosed into a cynical distortion of itself. Where there was once righteousness, there was now resignation. Defeat. If the whole world wanted to screw itself, who was he stop it? 

Simon tried to force himself to stop feeling, but found that he couldn’t stop caring about other people. Instead he stopped caring about himself. He became reckless in his teens, unable to understand himself and unable to relate to anyone else. He wanted to tear out whatever shred of goodness existed in him, wanted to rend it from his bones so he could finally be as catatonic as the rest of his friends and family. No one else seemed to care that they were all living like ghosts, treading lightly everywhere they went lest they make ripples and actually _change_ something, actually make a fucking difference. It infuriated him. When he couldn’t make himself stop feeling, he met someone who could.

His name was Frankie and he was an unassuming young man with a charmed tongue. He told Simon he could talk people into anything, and it was true. Frankie was his first in many ways. First boyfriend. First dealer. First person to utterly destroy him. Whatever lingering illusions of a meaningful existence Simon might have had disappeared with Frankie. 

He couldn’t tell Kieren any of this. He wasn’t even sure why he was thinking about it now, after so many years trying to forget it. But Kieren reminded Simon of himself in a lot of ways. Of course, Kieren was smarter than he had been. And stronger. He hadn’t sought out the long, messy road of drugs and alcohol to dull the sting of living. Simon wondered now what would have happened if he hadn’t chosen that night to overdose in the forest, if he hadn’t found Kieren bleeding out. Would someone else have gotten there in time? It was unlikely. Maybe... maybe Kieren wasn’t supposed to die. Maybe Simon had been there on purpose, to save him. In that case, could the same be true of himself? 

“If you hadn’t saved me, none of this would have happened,” Kieren suddenly said. It was as though he were sharing the same wave-length as Simon. He blinked the last tears out of his eyes and lowered his head from where it had been craned just a moment ago to look up at the sky.

Simon wanted to believe that Kieren’s life was worth more than Gary Kendal’s, but it wasn’t really his place to decide. The only sure thing he knew was that Kieren was still here for a reason, and perhaps so was he. 

“I don’t regret it,” Simon said, echoing the same sentiment he had tried to express in the hospital. “Saving you has given me the first real sense of purpose I’ve had since I was a kid.” 

“Are you not going to react to my blatant confession of murder?” 

“Involuntary manslaughter,” Simon corrected.

“What?” 

“Well, it wasn’t planned, was it? You didn’t mean to kill him. It was an accident, Kieren.” 

“An _accident_? Do you hear yourself?” Kieren ran a hand anxiously through his hair. It stuck up in little tufts all over, giving Kieren the appearance of having two little golden devil’s horns. Absurdly, Simon had to hold back a burst of laughter. “Jesus, Simon, you only just met me! For all you know, I could have been planning to take my revenge on Gary for months.” 

Simon did laugh then, unable to control himself. Kieren narrowed his eyes to slits and gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.

“This isn’t funny, you prick.” 

“I’m sorry,” Simon said, somewhat more somber. “You’re right. This is all just a touch too surreal.” 

“Tell me about it,” Kieren scoffed. He scrubbed his hands at the dried, itchy-looking tear tracks on his cheeks and chewed on his bottom lip. “What should I do?” 

“What should _we_ do, you mean,” Simon said. Kieren looked at him incredulously.

“You weren’t involved.”

“I am now. I told you I’d help.”

Kieren looked stricken for a moment before his features shifted to a put-on neutrality. He scooted over to the very edge of the rock he was using as a seat, and Simon took it for the cue it was and sat beside him. The space was small enough that their legs pressed together from thigh to ankle. The warmth against the chill of late evening air was comforting. The sat in mutual silence for several long minutes, listening to the nighttime sounds of the forest around them. There were cicadas humming somewhere, and crickets, and it was strange to think that the world was just plodding on routinely around them while they sat here in the aftermath of a death. It was then that Simon had an idea. 

“You said Gary was drunk?”

“Yes,” Kieren confirmed warily. 

“And it was an accident. A drunken accident. Kieren, that’s just it. That’s all it has to be.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You don’t have to _do_ anything. Someone will find Gary in the cemetery soon, probably tomorrow afternoon. They’ll report it, and if they do an autopsy at the morgue, they'll find out that he wasn’t sober. You said there wasn’t any force involved, so it will be easy enough for people to believe that he tripped of his own accord and fell.” 

“I can’t go through with that,” Kieren said quietly. “It’s not right. Simon, I can’t.” 

“I wouldn’t have suggested that if I thought there was another way.” And it was true. Simon didn’t want to see Kieren have to lie like this, but it was too risky for him to take any other route. 

“You think I’ll be put away if I confess?”

“I don’t know,” Simon said honestly. “It was an accident, but it might be difficult to prove that there wasn’t intent behind it.” 

“I don’t think I could handle a trial right now.” Kieren clenched his hands into fists like he was in physical pain, eyes wet again. He acted older, but Jesus, he was just a kid. Simon wished he could bear this burden for him. 

“You don’t have to,” Simon said gently. 

“I thought I was stronger than this,” Kieren said, so quietly that Simon wasn’t sure he had spoken at all or if the wind had carried the sound from somewhere else. It seemed unlikely. They were utterly alone.

“Before I...” Kieren started, then stopped to swallow and collect himself. “Before I tried to kill myself, I thought I was the kind of person who was strong enough to see things through to the end. I’d been through rough patches and the like before, but I just couldn’t stick this one out. Something inside of me - whatever kept me going all of those other times - broke. And I’m--” 

Kieren came to an abrupt full stop and stared at Simon like he was trying to convey a silent plea to him, asking him to _understand_ without words.

“It’s okay if you can’t tell me.” 

“I’m terrified,” Kieren admitted. “I’m terrified that I’ll hurt myself again and this time there won’t be somewhere there to stop me. I’m terrified that I don’t even know if I’d _want_ someone to stop me again. At group therapy they told me it wasn’t my fault that I was this-- this fucked up, but it’s hard to believe that. I don’t know if I’ve always been this scared and I just managed to keep it buried deep enough, or if this is what I get for being given a second chance: fear.”

“But you’re here,” Simon said. “You’re here right now, with me. You’re alive. That’s courage enough, Kieren. This thing with Gary... not saying anything isn’t going to make you weak.” 

“But it’s the right thing to do,” Kieren repeated numbly.

“Sometimes the right thing to do isn’t the smart thing.” It sounded like he was speaking from experience. Kieren couldn’t think of a good response to that. 

“And who decides what’s right, anyway? Was he right to harass you in the first place?” 

Kieren stubbornly kept his silence, feeling increasingly like a petulant child. He was cold, he suddenly realised. It was the beginning of summer, but it’d been rainy recently and with the sun gone it was too chilly to venture out without a jumper. He was cold and hungry and exhausted. But that was the price of living, wasn’t it? Inconveniences. Maybe it would help to think of this whole night as just another inconvenience. 

“I’m scared, too,” Simon said, apropos of nothing. “You don’t know how liberating it is to say that after a lifetime of running from myself in one way or another.”

Kieren finally looked at him. Simon saw a whole new set of lines on his face, ones that hadn’t been there just a month ago and seemed to have been etched into his skin overnight. He placed a warm hand on Kieren’s knee and felt that he was cold through the fabric of his thin trousers. 

“You’re shaking.” 

“So are you,” Kieren remarked, pointedly glancing at Simon’s fingers on his knee. They kept up a constant, low-level vibration; tremors burst at his synapses every other second. It was uncomfortable, but not nearly as unbearable as it had been a few weeks ago. “Why did you quit?” 

“I felt as though I’d finally done something good. Like I could face myself again without the buffer of narcotics.” 

Kieren ruminated upon the words for a second before he frowned and jostled his leg so that Simon’s hand slipped off. 

“Saving my life isn’t going to get you an application for sainthood,” Kieren said. Despite all expectation to the contrary on Kieren’s part, Simon laughed. 

“You’re something else.” 

With a very conspicuous eye-roll, Kieren got to his feet. He brushed his trousers off before turning on his heel and heading off down the path that had led them here. Simon made a startled sound in the back of his throat and only then did Kieren take a near-imperceptible pause. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Simon said soberly. He jogged after Kieren until they were walking side by side. “It’s just... that night was something of a turning point for me. Seeing you like that. Realising I had the power to help someone. It gave me hope.” 

“Glad my near-death experience could be of service to you.” 

“Kieren.” Something in Simon’s tone was frenzied, almost pleading. Kieren jerked to a stop and Simon was quick to do the same. They were near the edge of the forest now; the lights from the street cast shadows over the planes of his face, one half dark, the other luminescent. “I’m sorry. I won’t talk about it anymore if it makes you uncomfortable.” 

“What makes me uncomfortable is the fact that you have some kind of misguided faith in me. I’m not a symbol of hope or strength or anything. I’m just a kid. There’s nothing special about me.”

Simon swallowed back a whole host of protests. It was interesting that Kieren mentioned faith. Simon hadn’t had faith in anything in a long time. He wasn’t even sure if he still knew what that felt like. Perhaps what he felt for this boy was something akin to faith; perhaps it was something else entirely. Simon had spent so long running that he didn’t know enough of himself to distinguish between one feeling and another.

“I don’t expect you to be any of those things,” Simon assured. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you’re alone in this. No one should have to feel that way.” 

“Oh.” Simon could sense the moment that every ounce of enmity sunk from Kieren’s bones. It left him deflated and slumped. The fierce light in his round eyes dimmed to something containable. 

“That said, everything you told me tonight stays between us. I promise you my silence. That’s about all I can offer you, other than an ear to listen.” 

“Thanks,” Kieren said softly, not meeting his eye. “Sorry it took so long for me to say it. Before you, I didn’t think I had anyone else left.” 

“I could say the same of you,” Simon told him sincerely. 

“Don’t tell me an angsty, suicidal teen turned your life around,” Kieren said wryly, glancing sideways at him. 

“Okay.” Simon smiled despite himself. “I won’t.”

“Now you’re just being a bastard.” Kieren furiously fought the smile threatening his lips but was largely unsuccessful. He wrapped an arm around Simon’s neck and tugged him into a quick hug. For a split-second, Simon’s whole body held still. The tremors ceased. Then Kieren pulled away, and everything inside him keyed up again all at once. 

“I won’t say anything,” Kieren conceded. “For now.” 

“I’m glad.”

Kieren looked at his watch. It was two hours past dinner time. His parents would be getting worried. They didn’t like him being out of their reach for much longer than a few hours anymore. 

“It’s late. I should get going.” 

“Okay,” Simon said respectfully. 

Kieren waved half-heartedly and turned to leave. It looked like he might have something else to say, but Simon knew better than to pry.

“Oh, and Kieren?” 

He stopped. 

“Try to put this behind you.”

Kieren gave him the ghost of a smile. 

“Goodnight, Simon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I'm sorry this took a while longer than usual. This chapter fought me every single step of the way, and I'm still not sure if I'm entirely satisfied. If I'm being honest, this whole story is a little bit of a shot in the dark. I don't have a beta, either, so any mistakes or discrepancies are entirely my own fault. Please feel free to (respectfully) point them out. 
> 
> As always, I welcome feedback. Especially since the path ahead is going to get a little bit murky. But the Rising is finally on the horizon, friends.
> 
> Also, I've gotten two really fab people who've contacted me on tumblr (excaliburcas.tumblr.com) and I just wanted to say thank you so much to the both of them for making my day a little bit brighter and for sending me some really thought-provoking shit that has absolutely blown my mind. 
> 
> Lastly, school starts for me next Thursday, so be forewarned: the next update might be delayed a few days.


	5. Faithless

They found Gary’s body the next day. It was late afternoon when Sue knocked on Kieren’s door and poked her head in. Kieren was lying on top of his bedsheets on his back. His eyes were closed.

“Kier,” she said gently. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, Mum.”

“I hoped I could talk to you for a moment.” Kieren could sense her tentativeness and felt himself soften in response.

“Come in,” he told her, opening his eyes.

Sue stepped into the room, quiet as a mouse, and sat herself down on the far end of Kieren’s bed as though she was wary of taking up too much space. She made an abortive movement to rest a hand on Kieren knee, but ended up setting it down just a few inches shy of him.

“What is it?” Kieren asked.

“Shirley came by a little while ago for tea,” Sue started.

“Yeah?” Kieren propped himself up on his elbows to look at her.

“Well, you know how Shirl is about gossip... she told me she’d heard from Philip who’d heard from Vicar Oddie who’d heard from Ken Burton...”

Kieren gave her a look as she trailed off. Inside, he felt his heart seize in his chest. He knew what was coming.

“Well, Ken found Gary Kendal dead today in the cemetery.”

“Oh,” Kieren said, feeling the words ring hollow in the still air. He clenched and unclenched his fists, fought with every ounce of self-control he had to keep his breathing steady.

“I know you two didn’t exactly get on... but, well, I thought you should know.”

“Right.”

“It’s been something of a tough year, hasn’t it?” Sue continued. “I mean, first with poor Ken losing Maggie, then that Freddie Preston boy who got into the accident. Then your... your time in hospital, and that mate of yours - Amy. And now this.”

“Yeah,” Kieren agreed haltingly.

“I’m sorry if it’s a tad overwhelming for you right now. It’ll all blow over eventually, you’ll see. These things just take time.” She was trying very hard to sound cheerful, but falling at least a couple of beats short. Kieren smiled at her anyway.

“I know, Mum. Thanks for telling me.”

“Kieren, you know... you know if you’re having a tough time you can talk to me, don’t you? Your dad handles things a bit differently, and sometimes he doesn’t always know how to communicate with you, but I’m always here if you have something to get off your chest.”

“Okay,” Kieren said, struggling to vocalize anything at all. What would she think of him if he told her the truth about Gary Kendal? God, it was Rick all over again. Everything kept going in circles. Everything was his fault.

“Okay,” Sue affirmed. She reached out and patted his knee twice. Kieren knew that his mum wasn’t stupid. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she wasn’t going to push. His dad could sometimes be about as perceptive as a pile of bricks, but Sue’s judgement had always been sharper. Kieren had gotten the lot of his intuition from his mother.

“I’m going to start on dinner soon. How does lamb sound?”

This time, Kieren tried for a real smile.

“It sounds great, Mum.”

-

In the weeks following, Kieren took to walking the streets at night. Much to his parent’s chagrin, he often stayed out well past dinner time and into the late evening. On particularly bad days, when he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing Rick’s last smile or Gary bleeding out, he’d stay out until the sun rose and then finally he’d fall into bed and sleep like the dead with the sun against his eyelids, scouring all of the shadows away.

Though many of Roarton’s denizens had visited him in the hospital, not too many of them were on good terms with Kieren. They had come mostly out of respect for the Walkers, as well as a long-standing sense of propriety that the townspeople prided themselves on. But they were uneasy around him, and Kieren knew it. For as long as he’d been conscious, he sensed a difference with him. Something that set him apart from others.

At first he tried expressing it in the typical way that most adolescents do: alternative clothing, heavy metal music, the occasional hint of eyeliner. It made people look at him askance, but no one really thought of it as threatening. When that whole get-up got exhausting, Kieren began to paint. He had kept several sketchbooks throughout his life, but had never really explored any mediums more intense than charcoal for the sheer fact that he was untrained and good paint was _expensive_. It wasn’t until Jem got him a set of Winsor  & Newton Artist’s Oil Colours that he had started experimenting. Kieren always had a knack for portraits. There was something about capturing the slopes and angles of a person’s face that wasn’t nearly as satisfying as tracing the stagnant contours of a still-life or a building.

At fifteen, Kieren brought colour to all of the pencil portraits in his old sketchbooks. He recreated the faces of his family and his friends on huge stretched canvases. Every present that he got for a holiday or for his birthday became predictable - if it wasn’t a new set of paints, it was a couple of expensive brushes or an assortment of fresh canvases. On one notable occasion, Jem had gotten him a gorgeous easel made of oak with the money she’d saved up from months of babysitting and dog-walking.

He painted every person he had a meaningful relationship with. He started off with his sister, because she was an easy subject; all she needed was a pair of headphones and a good album and she would sit still for Kieren for hours. But only Kieren. She hated photographs of herself and swore she wouldn’t let any other soul on earth paint her but her brother. There were a few of his mum, as well. Then one of his dad from an old photograph. But increasingly, as the years grew by, the subject of his paintings was Rick. The first few times it was from photographs, because Kieren thought Rick might not be comfortable sitting for him, but he soon became so familiar with the angles of Rick’s face that he could trace them in his sleep. His hands remembered every single line that composed it, every brush stroke necessary to create the visage of his friend in a flurry of colour. Rick was usually done in warm colours - vibrant vermilion and soft peach, rich browns for his hair and eyes. He fell in love with the Rick on canvas almost as much as the one in real life.

Kieren often thought about these times as he walked at night. It brought him some measure of peace to reflect on that time in his life, where a paintbrush could solve most of his problems. His artistic passion had almost completely tapered off with Rick’s absence. He had been his muse, and he hadn’t even known it. Kieren was lost without this mode of expression. Painting was a kind of catharsis. He couldn’t think of a single way to attain that feeling of being utterly at peace with himself. But he _could_ think of someone who might know more about this than himself.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Kieren’s feet took him to the edge of town. There was the cemetery there, and the forest just beyond it. Not far away from the tombstones lay an uninspired, rectangular building. Furness B&B. Kieren approached it like a beaten dog might approached its abusive owner: resigned but wary.

He was only about a block away when his mind caught up with him and he realised what he was doing. He hadn’t spoken to Simon in a few weeks. Kieren had truly expected to only ever see him again in passing, if anything. Just because the guy had saved his life didn’t mean Kieren owed him anything in return. Though he had mostly made peace with the fact that Simon had been the one to drag him back into the land of living, he was adamant about that. Kieren hadn’t asked for it, after all.

A few meters away, the soft sound of music carried on the wind. Someone was playing the guitar. Kieren got a little closer and squinted up at the third floor of the guest quarters, where the dim glow of a lamp indicated that one of the occupants was awake. The notes faded for a moment, and when they started again, a low voice accompanied the guitar. The voice was lilting and smooth, its cadence soothing but choppy. A voice better suited to talking than to singing, perhaps. It sounded familiar.

Kieren held his breath and listened closely. There was a faint accent to the tone, something that didn’t sound very foreign at all. It dawned on him, then. Simon. Just as the thought occurred, there was the sound of a door slamming and then the shrill, exasperated voice of Sandra Furness drifted out from the open window. The playing abruptly stopped.

“Mr Monroe, it’s getting late. I’ve put up with your playing all afternoon for _days_ and I’d like to have some peace and quiet now that my evening show is on! I’m sure you understand.”

Simon replied in a polite, quiet tone that Kieren couldn’t quite make out from that distance. Sandra presumably said something less obnoxious in reply, and then her clicking footsteps announced her departure. The lamp in Simon’s room switched off. Kieren frowned. It was only 9 pm. He hadn’t pegged Simon as an early sleeper. With his pale skin and the shadows under his eyes, Kieren had thought him to be more the nocturnal sort.

Kieren was just on the verge of turning away when the side door opened and Simon walked out into the back garden. He was tapping a pack of fags on his thigh and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Kieren cleared his throat unobtrusively and Simon stopped dead in his tracks, looking up.

Simon headed over to Kieren without any further prompting and Kieren immediately noticed that there was a new stillness to him. He was no longer trembling all over, but there was a look in his eyes like he hadn’t slept in a long while.

“Came out here for a smoke,” Simon said, as though Kieren might have been suspicious of his motives. If anything, it was odd for Kieren to be all the way out here, standing outside of Simon’s window like he had been meaning to serenade him.

“Okay,” Kieren said. “I was just, er, taking a walk. I do that sometimes now.”

“Oh?” Simon cocked an eyebrow and sliding a cigarette out of the pack. Kieren eyed it warily and Simon paused, fumbling his lighter. He took one look at Kieren and tucked the cigarette back in, pocketing the whole pack again.

“Don’t stop on account of me,” Kieren said. Truthfully, he hated the smell of tobacco and always had, but who was he to stop Simon from doing anything?

“It’s okay. My lungs could use the break, anyway.” Simon smiled crookedly and leaned against the side of the B&B.

“So, nightmares?” he asked suddenly. Kieren’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and Simon laughed. “I’m not psychic, just well-versed.”

“It’s hard to sleep sometimes,” Kieren admitted grudgingly. “So I go out to clear my head.”

“S’why I smoke so much these days. I get it.”

“I heard you playing before,” Kieren blurted. Simon ground the toe of his boot into the dirt and looked away. “Does that help you too?”

“Kind of,” Simon told him. “Mostly I just play so I have something to do with my hands. Otherwise I start itching for a fix, and I don’t want to go down that road again.”

“You’re still clean, then.” Kieren hoped he didn’t sound too surprised.

“Yeah. Longest I have been in years.” He assessed Kieren for a moment. “Mum would be proud if I were still speaking to her.”

“That’s good,” Kieren said awkwardly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and yearned to leave, suddenly. Simon’s presence was too much. Being around him felt like suffocating. Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

“You’re uncomfortable,” Simon realised aloud. “Is it something I’m doing?”

“No, I’m just-- no. I just don’t feel well.” He’d always been an atrocious liar. Kieren could tell by the look on Simon’s face that he saw right through him.

“You can leave. It’s nice to have the company, but don’t let me keep you here.”

“No, sorry. I’m being daft,” Kieren said. Despite his uneasiness, something felt unfinished between them. Whatever it was, he was determined to see it through. “Walk with me?”

“Okay.” Simon agreed easily enough, but he was anxious. It showed in the tense bolt of his jaw and the stiffness in his shoulders.

They exited the back garden together, but Simon made sure to keep a respectable distance between them. Kieren felt himself relax some. Simon wasn’t dangerous. A little too perceptive, maybe, and perhaps a bit jumpy, but he didn’t mean any harm. Obviously.

“So, other than nightmares, how have the waking hours been treating you?”

“Good enough,” Kieren supplied. Simon raised a skeptical eyebrow at him as they turned the corner and headed toward the forest. Kieren huffed a mirthless laugh.

“Wow, nothing gets past you, does it?” Kieren snarked.

“Sorry.” Simon raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not usually this obnoxious, but it’s obvious something’s troubling you.”

“I’m an open-book, is what you’re saying.” Simon squinted at him and shrugged.

“Not always. You _are_ a terrible liar, but I suspect you already know that.”

Kieren said nothing. For a while, the only sound was the crunch of their heavy footfall on the foliage.

“It’s exhausting,” Kieren admitted eventually. “My family treats me like glass. The only person who doesn’t think I’m entirely fragile is my little sister, but I think she’s been mad at me lately.”

“Your sister loves you,” Simon said quietly. “I saw her that day in the hospital. She was angry, but I think it was just to cover up how afraid she was of losing you.”

“I’ve caused them all so much trouble,” Kieren said miserably. He wrapped his arms around himself to fend off the chill in the late summer breeze. “I never meant for it to be this way.”

“They’d all be worse off without you,” Simon said firmly. He stopped and took hold of Kieren’s shoulders with the flat of his palms. “You have to believe that.”

“You can’t know that,” Kieren insisted.

“Maybe not. But your family does love you, Kieren. There’s no shame in asking them to be there for you.”

“I don’t know how.” Kieren had never felt so small in his entire life.

Simon’s mouth twisted like he was in pain. He moved his left hand from Kieren’s shoulder to the nape of his neck and left it there for a minute, warming Kieren down to his bones. Simon looked at him almost reverently. It made Kieren feel clumsy and ill-suited to his own skin.

“I think about going away somewhere a lot,” Kieren said. “There’s just nothing for me here.”

“There’s your family. There’s your friends.” Simon paused and Kieren didn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t have any anymore. He started to pull away from his hand but Simon stopped him with a gentle tug at his collar. “There’s me,” Simon said finally, catching Kieren’s eyes briefly.

Kieren did pull away this time, curling further into himself. His body immediately strained at the loss of warmth. Whatever discomfort Kieren felt before had faded substantially. There was something hypnotic about the way Simon’s finely accented tongue shaped the words that came from his mouth. Everything he said sounded like it bore some profound gravity. Kieren’s skin ached at his proximity, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be closer or farther away.

A troubling thought struck him suddenly.

“How old are you?” Kieren wondered. Simon didn’t look very old, but he talked like he had experience.

“Twenty-seven,” Simon answered easily.

“Shit.” Kieren couldn’t keep a bark of nervous laughter from escaping. “I’m eighteen.”

“That’s not so bad. Nine years, give or take.” Simon was flushed even as he said it, like he’d been caught in the act of doing something vaguely shameful. “You seem older.”

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment," Kieren said.

“You should. I’ve known people twice your age who weren’t half as mature.” It was Kieren’s turn to colour, now. He turned a rather fetching shade of pink. “Anyway, age isn’t really a factor. I’ve been friends with all sorts.”

Friends? Is that what they were now? Kieren wasn’t so sure if that was the right word, but it was something.

“Well, if we’re _friends_ now, you have to do something for me," Kieren said tentatively.

“What?”

“I feel like I don’t know anything about you. Tell me about yourself.”

Simon’s expression darkened.

“Kieren, that’s not something you want to know.”

“Yes, it is,” Kieren said, sure of himself. “I’ve already burdened you with enough of myself. Now you talk, and I listen.”

Simon heaved a great sigh that meant he’d given in. Kieren was getting the feeling that he could get just about anything out of Simon if he just prodded enough. There were near the den where Simon had found Kieren that first night. Simon walked over to an out-cropping of rock and sat down, gesturing for Kieren to follow.

“Fine. But I wouldn’t blame you if you tell me to stop." Simon scrubbed a hand through his messy hair. "From the beginning, then. When I was little...”

Simon talked for a long while; it could have been hours, but Kieren was too far gone to realise. It started off with little anecdotes from his childhood, but when Kieren quickly became completely absorbed, Simon begrudgingly talked more and more. Eventually he breached his adolescence, at which point the story became much darker. Kieren didn’t even blink. He sat and listened, occasionally nodding or making little reassuring sounds in the back of his throat. Simon slowly felt himself relaxing. He’d never had someone’s attention so completely.

Simon told him of his parents - a mum who loved him dearly but doted too much, didn’t really understand where the darkness in him came from and why it wouldn’t go away. A dad who was similar to Kieren’s in some way, closed-off emotionally but with good intentions. He didn’t have any siblings or cousins around his age. He was the youngest in his family; the only child born in decades. The only one left to carry on the family name.

“So you can imagine their disappointment,” Simon continued, “when they found out I would be doing nothing of the sort.”

“What?” Kieren blinked.

“Oh.” Simon looked as though he were honestly surprised that Kieren was clueless. “I’m not particularly interested in women.”

“Was I just supposed to have inferred that?”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.”

“Not really,” Kieren said incredulously. A part of him burned with the knowledge. He _could_ let Simon know that he wasn’t exactly inclined to heterosexuality either, but it seemed like mentioning it would be implying something that he wasn’t ready to implicate. _Friends_ , he reminded himself sourly.

Kieren kept quiet and let Simon continue. In a matter of what seemed like minutes, an hour and a half had passed. Simon had spoken of his teens with the kind of disgust Kieren had never before heard in his voice. He learned that when Simon got angry, his accent thickened. He spoke about his burgeoning drug use in a tone with such a heavy Irish inflection that Kieren had to ask him to repeat a few things more than once.

From what Kieren could gather, Simon had grown up just outside the city, but started making regular day trips there when he met some kid called Frankie. He talked about himself like he should have known not to get involved, should have known what was coming, but he had just been a kid. Kieren told him so. He was vulnerable and young, and every kid was allowed to make some bad choices. Simon clearly did not agree, but he didn’t press the issue. He told Kieren of how eventually the drug abuse had gotten so bad that his parents kicked him out at seventeen. That was after three failed attempts at rehab. Simon was homeless for two months. Eventually, he moved in with Frankie and a couple of other drug friends and started using heroin on a daily basis. He lost three years of his life that way. There was hardly a moment during that time when he had been sober.

“I don’t remember much,” Simon said bitterly. “Bits and pieces here and there. I know that once someone got into a fight with Frankie over drug money. I know he killed them for it. He promised he hadn’t, and I was high at the time, but I know what I saw.”

Kieren saw that he was shaking and rested his hand overtop Simon’s.

“It still stings. That I didn’t do anything about. That I just-- let it happen.” He took a calming breath. “After that, I left him. Tried to get sober. It worked for about a week or so, but I was homeless again and fuckin’ miserable. Finally, I went back home.”

Simon’s parents were just happy to have him back, he said. There was a lot of bad blood between them, but it had been a long time, and his mum missed him more than she was mad at him. He stayed with them for about a year, went to rehab, and was tentatively sober. But it was almost unbearable to be that way when he felt so empty, so entirely devoid of purpose. So he did what he’d wanted to since he was a child - on his mum’s blessing and his father’s vague disapproval, he bought a plane ticket to the U.S. with the money he was meant to use for university. It was great at first, but it wore off quickly. He stayed there for a few weeks and felt no more fulfilled than he had anywhere else.

“I found that no matter how many thousands of miles I had put between where I had been and where I was, nothing had changed. I still felt the same way. There’s no one place on earth that can fix you.”

“What did you do then?”

“Moved back. Stayed with my parents a while, but couldn’t stand to stay clean anymore. Started using again, ended up on the streets more often than not. Here and there I found a friend to stay with for a while. I pissed away most of my money on drugs, but my mum kept some of my old savings locked away in the house. It’s what I’m living on now.”

Simon’s eyes were bloodshot.

“I haven’t talked to her in two months. She doesn’t trust me not to break, anymore. That’s my biggest regret - making her feel that way about me.”

“You can change that now,” Kieren said. “You’re stronger.”

“For how long? It’s only a matter of time before I give in.”

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You quit cold turkey.”

“Yeah, and every day I feel the urge to use again paralyzing me like a pair of hands around my throat. This isn’t the first time I’ve quit. I always end up going back. It’s who I am.”

“You’re more than just an addict,” Kieren spat. “I’ve seen that today alone.”

“You shouldn’t have so much faith in me,” Simon said, echoing a statement that Kieren himself had made not so long ago. “It’s completely unfounded.”

“Fine.” Kieren grit his teeth. “Then we’ll be a pair of faithless sods trudging around miserably for the rest of our lives. That sound ideal?”

Simon laughed for a moment before his features shifted and he grew abruptly somber. Again, he was looking at him in the same way that always made Kieren feel like he was under a microscope. While that was not a feeling that he particularly appreciated, coming from Simon it was different. He felt less like an alien species and more like a previously undiscovered element, enigmatic and peculiar, but awe-inspiring all the same.

Kieren felt himself leaning closer without meaning to, unconsciously breaching the barrier of appropriate personal space. Simon froze entirely, as if wading in a pool of still water wherein unknown dangers lay below. Even the slightest ripple could disturb the peace.

Then there was a wave instead.

Later, Kieren would swear that the first scream came from Sandra Furness. Simon thought the sound was too animalistic to determine its origin. The only thing they both agreed on was that it was a toe-curling, wretched noise that had them on their feet in less than a second. They jumped apart from each other like a fire had been lit at their feet.

It was dark out and there was a strange feeling in the air. An obscure sense of _knowing_ struck both Kieren and Simon at the same moment. It was something they would not talk about for years to come, but they knew it in their hearts and carried it around like a sworn secret. The ground beneath them melted away; Kieren did not remember running, but he must have, because a few minutes later he was standing with Simon in front of the B &B again. Sandra was on her back porch with a hand clutched to her heart, staring off into the not-so-far distance. The graveyard.

Kieren looked and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was pandemonium in its truest form. There were no words in English to describe the feeling it gave him to watch gnarled hands tearing at the soil and breaching the earth like newborn chicks cracking out of their eggshells. To hear the desperate, inhuman sounds they made as they heaved themselves out of their graves and took their first second look at the night sky. To smell the scent of decaying flesh and taste the gritty tang of soil on his tongue.

When Kieren could not look away, Simon grabbed his shoulder and physically removed him from the scene. When Kieren blinked open his eyes a few minutes later, he was sitting on Sandra Furness’ sofa, chest seizing, hands shaking so hard that if he were to try and pick up a cup of tea, it would slosh all over him. Simon, by contrast, was unnervingly still. The hands that had been trembling when he spoke of his past became like steady anchors on Kieren’s shoulders. Simon was on his knees in front of him now, trying to get him to look him in the eye.

There was something overwhelmingly familiar about the whole ordeal. This was exactly like when Jem had told him Rick was dead. Except now Kieren was feeling more than just sorrow and horror; inside of him, there emerged the first inklings of fear.

Kieren blinked back the cloudiness in his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of lucidity. Simon blew out a relieved breath.

“Kieren? You okay?”

The dead were rising from their graves, but there was only one thought on Kieren’s mind - a piercing notion that occurred to him so suddenly and cruelly he almost doubled over with the force of it.

“That could’ve been me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, guys!! School started for me a few days ago, at which point I had started this chapter but wasn't entirely satisfied/finished with it. It's double the length of a normal chapter to make up for it, though! (~ 4k) Originally, I planned for this chapter to be more about the Rising than anything else, but instead it ended up being more of a love letter to Simon's character. Um. Oops. 
> 
> Next chapter will focus more on the Rising. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is meant to act as a sort of companion or part II to the last chapter, hence the titles "Faith" and for this one, "Faithless". There are some little parallels I threw in. See if you can catch them. 
> 
> I love you all. Sorry my author's notes are always so long. Thanks for reading.


	6. The First Wave

That night was sleepless for everyone. The sound alone woke up the entire neighborhood. Sandra Furness’ screams went on into the early morning. Her husband Clive did his best to comfort her, but the look on Clive’s face when his mother dragged herself out of the earth and across the backyard says it all. None of them are equipped to deal with this. 

Simon himself was not sure what part he was supposed to play in all of this. He stayed at the Furness’ house and watched everything fall apart. Kieren was beside him, and that was something. But the boy clearly wanted to go home. He tried ten times to call his parents - tried the house phone 4 times and then Jem’s mobile six. It was no use. The lines were either down or busy. Finally, a good hour after midnight, Kieren jolted to his feet and brushed past Simon. He paced back and forth for a moment before resolve settled in on his features. 

“I’m going home.”

“ _Kieren_ ,” Simon said. “Have you seen what it’s like out there?” 

“I need to know that my family is okay,” Kieren replied, not budging. 

“You can’t go on your own. It’s too risky.” 

Kieren stepped up to him and met his eyes with a savage glare. 

“Are you going to stop me?” Simon could try, but if he knew anything about Kieren, it was that he wouldn’t give in to anyone else easily. Simon would have to physically restrain him, and Kieren was probably stronger than he looked. 

“No,” Simon sighed, “I’ll come with you.” 

Kieren looked away in an attempt to obscure the gratitude on his face, but Simon saw it anyway and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t sure how much of a help he would be, but it was better than losing sight of Kieren entirely. 

Sandra was locked in her bedroom hyperventilating at this point, and Clive was preoccupied with slamming his fist against the door, trying to get her to let him in. Simon used the opportunity to sneak into the kitchen and rifle through the drawers. It took him a minute to find the right utensil. When he walked back out into the foyer, Kieren frowned at him. 

“Simon,” Kieren said slowly, like he was talking to an infant. “That’s a carving knife.” 

“We need to be prepared in case--” 

“They’re _dead_.”

“Haven’t you ever seen _Night of the Living Dead_?” Simon asked incredulously. That’s right. Simon had that obsession with American movies. Kieren rolled his eyes in an attempt to make light of the situation. Thinking about the fact that the plot of a movie was coming true was seriously too much for him to wrap his head around. 

“Let’s go,” Kieren said, acting on impulse instead of thought. He made his way to the door with broad strides, walking much more confidently than he felt. Simon followed helplessly. 

“Don’t you want to take something to protect yourself?” 

“I’m not going to go around killing townspeople like some kind of psycho vigilante.” 

“I think you’re going about this the wrong way,” Simon muttered. 

They both halted abruptly in the threshold of the sliding back door. The back garden was a swarming mass of bodies. Kieren sucked in a sharp breath and immediately regretted it. The smell was enough to fell an ox. Simon glanced sideways at him. His hands tightened around the knife. 

Kieren was the first to make a move. He took a tentative step out onto the grass and before he could blink found himself side-stepping a bony hand groping for his ankle. Simon kicked at the person that hand was attached to and they fell back for a moment, emitting an inhuman keen. Kieren didn’t have time to look back to see who it was. His greatest fear was that he might recognize someone amidst the bodies. Simon sensed his sudden trepidation and gave him a firm shove on the shoulder. 

“ _Run_ , Kieren.” 

And so he did. He ran without conscious realisation of the act. Ran until the ground disappeared from beneath his feet and he might as well have been treading air. Ran until his calves ached with exertion and his thighs cramped up so that he couldn’t feel anything but the burn of them. It was only when he reached the familiar street of the cul-de-sac his family resided in that he slowed down and remembered to look behind him. 

Simon was a few meters away, hands on his knees, panting heavily. But he hadn’t been harmed. Kieren felt something in him unravel marginally at the sight. So far, this part of town was safe. It looked like the dead hadn’t made it here yet, but a few had been tailing Kieren most of the way to his house. Who knew how far away they were.

“Bad lungs,” Simon gasped between heaves. “Go ahead of me. I’ll find you.” 

Kieren scoffed and retraced his steps back to Simon. “Famous last words.” 

Simon managed a brief quirk of his mouth. “True.” 

Kieren put a hand on Simon’s back to steady him because it seemed like the thing to do. Eventually, Simon regained his breath and straightened up to look around. The lights in all of the houses were on. Everyone was awake, but no one made a sound. In one particular house, an older man stood looking out of his bedroom window. He looked gaunt and haunted, but underneath the mask of exhaustion he wore, there were the first kindlings of hope in his eyes. Simon tore his eyes away and looked at Kieren instead. 

“Which is your house?”

Kieren pointed to an average-sized building on the other side of the street, next to the house with the man in it. There was a car in the driveway. Everyone must have been home. Simon walked with him to the side door and Kieren unlocked it with a quick twist of his wrist. 

The living room was pitch black and empty. Kieren hesitantly moved to flick on a light switch. Everything was still for a second, and then all of the sudden there was a clamor upstairs, and a man came barreling down the steps with a baseball bat in hand. He stumbled to a stop and dropped the bat when he saw Kieren standing there. Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders.

“Dad--” Kieren was cut off by his father rushing to close the gap, crushing his son into his chest. Simon shuffled awkwardly off to the side and was glad when the yelling upstairs interrupted the moment. 

“Steve? What’s going on?” It sounded like Kieren’s mother. 

A minute later, Sue was at the bottom landing of the stairs with Kieren’s sister at her side. Their expressions both collapsed into identical looks of relief when they took in the sight. Wordlessly, they shuffled over to join the embrace. Simon could barely make out Kieren amidst the tangled limbs of his family. Simon felt very clearly that he did not belong. 

Nearly a full two minutes later, Kieren extracted himself from his family members and put some distance between them. Kieren feigned indifference, but the relief on his face was impossible to hide. It was then that Steve noticed Simon standing there. 

“Oh, yer--” Steve cut himself off and swallowed. Sue looked at Simon for a long moment and then nodded twice as if reassuring herself of something. Still, Jem refused to look at him.

“Simon was with me when... when this all started,” Kieren explained. “He needs somewhere to stay.” 

Steve’s mouth twitched. “Small price to pay for bringing me son home safe again. What d’you say, Sue?”

Sue clasped her hands in front of her and tried to dredge up a smile. Jem scoffed obnoxiously. 

“I think it’s a great idea. We could use the company.” 

Kieren glanced at him sideways and Simon tried to look grateful. In truth, he could only feel the cold clench of fear in his gut. 

“I’ll... make you boys something to eat,” Sue continued hastily. She pulled her sulky daughter along with her. “Come on, Jemima. I could do with some help in the kitchen.” 

Then there were just three of them standing there in silence. 

“Telly’s out,” Steve announced. “No signal. I only caught the beginning of a news broadcast before it went off air. All of Lancashire is up in a big fuss about this ‘undead’ business.” 

“Dad, this is serious,” Kieren said. “Haven’t you seen what’s going on out there?” 

“No,” Steve admitted, “but the news did sound like it was blowing things a bit out of proportion.” 

“Out of proportion?” Kieren said incredulously. “There are _literally_ people rising from the grave.”

Steve cleared his throat and paled some. “Like something out of those old zombie films?”

“Exactly like that,” Simon confirmed. 

“Oh.” Kieren and Simon looked at each other as Steve began to pace. “Well, I best start boarding up the windows, then. Don’t you think?” 

“But all of the tools are in the shed.”

“I’ll get them,” Simon offered. Kieren’s eyes narrowed. 

“You don’t know what to look for. I’ll go with you,” Kieren said. Steve opened his mouth to protest but Kieren was already unlocking the side door and slipping outside. Simon followed him silently, shooting a half-apologetic, half-bewildered look at Steve as he went. 

The shed was only a few paces away, but they were especially cautious. The night seemed stiller than it had been a few minutes ago when they’d arrived at the house. Kieren thought he heard the shuffling of footsteps down the block. Simon kept his eyes roving around, vigilant in the presence of possible danger. 

They got into the tool shed without incident. Simon took the frayed, rotting pieces of wood (apparently leftover from a failed childhood attempt at building a birdhouse) that Kieren handed him and hefted them onto his shoulder. Kieren heaved the immense tool box off the top shelf and began to drag it towards the door. 

They did this all quietly, but it didn’t matter. One moment Simon was on his feet, and the next there was a cold hand wrapped around his ankle. With the additional weight of the wood unbalancing him, it only took a slight tug to send him careening to the ground. It was luck that kept his skull from cracking off of the edge of one of the wooden planks. 

Kieren had frozen in place and was staring down at Simon like he thought he might be in a dream. The hand against his bare skin felt like wax and steel all at once; it was unyielding as brick yet rubbery like a dead fish. The too-long nails were digging crescent moons into his ankle and Simon belatedly kicked out in protest. It was in vain. The hands were small and delicate but the grip was akin to a bear trap. 

The other cold hand soon joined the fray, and now the corpse was clawing its way slowly up Simon’s leg, nails leaving bloody red trails as they tore through his trousers. It was trying to lift itself up enough to get a hold of his head. A strangled noise made its way out of Simon’s mouth, and Kieren suddenly snapped into motion. He visibly braced himself, hefted the heavy tool box to shoulder length, and swung viciously at the corpse. His eyes were closed, but by some miracle, his aim was spot on. 

The tool box smacked against the back of its head with a heavy _thunk_. Only then did Simon allow himself to look at the body sprawled on top of him. The eyes struck him first - pristine white, like china, with pupils that were muddied and distorted beyond recognition. They were utterly vacant. A chill seized him; he had seen those eyes before somewhere.

The body belonged to a girl in her early teens with loose blonde curls and a cherubic face. Her mouth hung open as though her jaw was loose on its hinges, but there was no hint of blood on her lips. Simon would have been her first meal. He didn’t have time to feel nauseated at the thought. The girl swayed on top of him for a moment, looking straight into his eyes. She let out a last wheeze of breath and crumpled beside him. 

Simon scrambled to his feet with his stomach in his throat, heart thudding so hard he couldn’t hear the panicked babbling of the boy beside him. As soon as he determined Simon was relatively unharmed, Kieren stepped back and dropped the tool box to the ground. He stared at the body for a long time, unblinking. Simon looked back at it and realised that there was a small puddle of black liquid oozing out of an open wound in the back of her head, where her skull had caved with the impact of the tool box. 

Kieren swiveled away from him and promptly emptied his stomach onto the grass. Twice now Simon had been in this position. He did what he had last time and what he feared he would always do for Kieren - walked over, put a hand on his back, and told him it was okay. Everything was going to be okay. 

“Oh _God_ ,” Kieren said, wiping his hand on the back of his mouth. “I killed her, didn’t I?” 

“She was already dead,” Simon said. He put his hands on Kieren’s shoulder and turned him away from the body. They walked a few meters out onto the driveway. 

“You did what you had to do. You protected me.” 

Kieren was cold and shaking like a leaf, but Simon pulled him into a hug anyway. It may have lasted longer than it should, but Kieren clung to him like he was the only dry land in an ocean that went on infinitely. Kieren gradually calmed in his arms, knitting himself back together remarkably well for someone who had just split a corpse’s head open like a ripe melon. Kieren was soft in many places, but he knew how to be steadfast when necessity called. 

“Thank you,” Simon said finally. Kieren pulled away, taking some of Simon’s warmth with him. He did not say anything for a long time. He stared instead at the long, empty stretch of road that led down his street and out to other parts of town. It was empty, for now. 

“What do you suppose started all of this?” he asked in a small voice. Simon swallowed. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “Sometimes the earth behaves in strange ways.” 

“So you’re saying this is just another natural phenomenon, like a tsunami or a tornado?” 

“Could be. What do we really know of the world, Kieren?” Simon turned his eyes to the horizon. The stars were shrouded in a thick layer of clouds. “Everything is so much more vast than we can perceive. There are forces in the universe that are beyond us.” 

Kieren snorted. “Yeah? Maybe this is a biblical plague, then.” 

The idea that this was biblical struck Kieren as funny, ridiculous even, but it stirred something dark inside Simon. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, the chill of the night and his near-death experience prompting him to momentarily reach a profound unity with his environment. He breathed in, felt his lungs expand to trap the air, and then released it all in a swift exhale. He felt closer to life than he ever had before. For a brief moment, it was no longer a burden to exist. 

Simon’s fingers flexed around the shape of a cardboard box in his left pocket. He pulled it out and felt his mouth twist wryly at the sight. It was his pack of cigarettes. Simon barely spared a thought before he dropped the pack to the ground, crushing the box under the heel of his boot, grinding it mercilessly into the tarmac. 

“There are enough things trying to kill me,” he decided. 

Kieren made a soft noise of approval. Simon was about to suggest that they head inside when he saw a burst of movement out of the corner of his eye. He nudged Kieren. 

“Do you see that?” 

Kieren squinted into the far distance, just below the horizon, and saw a series of indistinct shadows moving closer. 

“Simon,” he said gravely, “I think--” 

The shadows slowly lengthened into dark, lumbering shapes as their approach neared. It was clear now what they were. There were few dozen of them at least. Simon and Kieren hastily picked up their wood and tools and bolted back to the house on stiff legs. It was time to wait out the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! Very sorry that it took me longer than a week to update. School started a few weeks ago and we've already gotten into the swing of things. I'm really busy every day but I've literally been writing this story during every free period I have in school. If there are any mistakes/typos, please let me know. They annoy me as much as they annoy you.


	7. Requiem

Bill Macy was the one who started it all. There'd been murmurs in the beginning - after the phone lines had gone back up - that the government was sending troops and provisions to all affected areas. That had been at the very start of if all, when no one was quite sure what to believe. The government never came. Most people had lost faith by now. There were occasional and very brief parish council meetings every now and then, when the streets were not very densely packed with the undead. Whoever could make it to these meetings got a say in the happenings. Bill Macy, a man of sufficiently stockpiled arms and nerve seemingly made of steel, made it to every single one of them. Pearl Pinder was there half the time. Vicar Oddie, of course, presided over every one. It was during the fifth meeting of this sort that Bill Macy slammed a fist on the table. 

"Let's not pussyfoot around the problem anymore, ladies an' gents! We got to take back Roarton ourselves, because the government sure as 'ell isn't coming to rescue us!" 

Pearl slammed her thick fist down in agreement and lifted her glass of whiskey in the air. "I'll drink to that!"

Vicar Oddie folded his hands and "hmmed" in that peculiar way of his. "We're a small town, Bill. Do we really have the resources to expend on a militia?"

"Would you rather rot like the rest of that stinking bunch out there?" Lancaster asked. 

"Are you willing to take up arms yourself, then?" Vicar said.

"Damn right I am! I'll do it all by myself if I have to. Whoever else is willing best stand now."

There was a collective silence. The whole room held its breath. Bill stood from in such a frenzy that his chair clattered to the floor behind him. 

"No one, then? Fine. Bunch of pussies you lot are."

"Well, I've got a business to run," Pearl remarked, setting down her glass like a punctuation mark.

"We'll need to fill your spot on the council, Bill," Vicar said finally. 

More silence. Eventually Pearl got a look like she had a great idea. 

"Oh, Shirl is always going on about how her boy wants to get into politics. What about him?"

"Philip Wilson?" Lancaster asked incredulously. "He doesn't seem the type."

"He'll do," Vicar decided. He placed both hands flat on the table and stood. "Meeting adjourned for today. Someone contact Shirley Wilson and tell her to send her son over for the next meeting." 

Vicar strode over to where Bill was pacing the room furiously. "Bill, if you'd come into the other room with me for a moment."

-

The people of Roarton had scarcely left their houses for two months. Occasionally, a brave man or woman would run to the nearest store for the basic necessities. But other than stocking up, everyone stayed idle and safe inside their homes. Fortunately, the Walkers always had an abundance of nonperishables in the cupboard, and were obscurely prepared for this kind of thing. Or at least they had been. With Simon in the house, supplies had started to dwindle. They were down to their last few boxes of milk and had a couple of leftover cans of chicken soup. 

The business windows were all dark and empty as well, morning and night. No one wanted to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. The people living in Lee's Cul-de-sac had all boarded up their windows and some had put barricades behind the closed doors. The houses stood like solemn monoliths in the street, solitary witnesses to the dead walking the earth. 

The street was silent but for the distant scuffling of rubber soles dragging upon the asphalt. Kieren watched the eerie scene from his open bedroom window. Occasionally, there would be great bursts of activity, where it seemed the whole block was flooded with the haunting visages of the dead. Then there would be an abrupt emptiness, and everything would go unnaturally still as it was now. 

The whole house was asleep; it was almost serene, but Kieren still found more often than not that he couldn’t find peace at night. The nightmares weren’t as frequent now, but sometimes he still sat up into the early hours of the morning, watching as the moon waned, eyes tracing the faint line in the distance where the sky met the earth. Sometimes he’d look down at the street like he was now and think he saw a person he knew ambling by. Sometimes, if he looked too fast, he would even see a facsimile of himself walking crookedly past his house, eyes marble white to match pallid skin, blood dripping off his chin in thick drops. Then he’d blink, shake himself, and the vision would be gone. 

It was three in the morning. Kieren was about ready to burrow himself down into the bedsheet when there was the sound of a soft shuffle that drifted into his room from the hallway. He froze immediately, but soon his rational thought process took over and his heartbeat steadied. The house was sealed up tight. It was probably just his dad going to the bathroom or something. Nothing to--

“Kieren?”

Kieren swiveled at the sound, turning to face his door. It was ajar just slightly, and through the sliver of light from the hallway he could see a clear blue eye illuminated brilliantly. 

“Jesus, Simon,” Kieren said. “What are you doing up?” 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Simon shouldered the door open a little wider and shrugged. “Never can on nights like this. It’s too quiet.” 

“Why’d you come up here?” Kieren asked, though he suspected he knew. Simon slept on the sofa downstairs every night, despite repeated offers on Kieren’s part to share his bedroom. Sometimes it got lonely downstairs.

“I thought you might be awake,” Simon said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I hear you shuffling around up here almost every night until dawn. But if you don’t want the company...” 

“No, it’s all right. You can sit down.” 

Simon swallowed and walked slowly into the room like he was expecting to encounter a landmine at any moment. When he made it to Kieren’s bed he sat himself gingerly on the edge of it, as though he were afraid of wrinkling the duvet. Kieren rolled his eyes. 

“You don’t have to be so careful around here, you know. That goes for all of us. You’ve been living here for weeks and I still have to convince you every night that it’s okay to eat dinner.” 

“ _Staying_ here,” Simon corrected firmly. “Living implies permanency. I’m just here for a while until--”

“Until what, the government comes and air lifts us all out of Roarton?”

“No,” Simon grit his teeth, “but it’s not right that I’m taking up your supplies. You’re running out of food more quickly because of me.”

“You don’t have anywhere else to go,” Kieren reminded him a bit more gently. “I don’t mind you being here. In fact, it’s nice to have the company.” 

Simon shifted self-consciously on the bed. He didn’t like the feeling of being a burden. Under any other circumstances, he would have tried to find his own place, but it was hardly possible considering the current situation. People could barely leave the house for food, let alone flat hunting. 

“I appreciate it,” Simon said, resigned for now. 

Kieren smiled boyishly and flopped down on the unoccupied portion of his bed. “I’m still not tired. How about we do something to take our minds off of things?” 

“Like what?” 

“A movie?” Kieren suggested. “My dad has a collection of blu-rays.” 

“Okay,” Simon agreed easily. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a film with someone while he was sober, and the idea of sitting with Kieren for a couple of hours... well, it wasn’t exactly an unpleasant one. 

“You like American stuff, right?” Kieren shoved off the bed and walked over to the little box of CDs and blu-rays he kept on the top shelf.

“Yeah.” Simon shrugged. “I was especially into horror films as a kid, but I like most genres.” 

“Ever seen Donnie Darko?” 

“Yes, but I was high at the time.”

“How do you feel about a rewatch, then?” Kieren asked.

They tiptoed downstairs in fear of disturbing anything; these days, it was not amusing to be woken up in the middle of the night by someone fooling around - it was downright terrifying. It was nearing four in the morning and by the time the movie was set up, Simon and Kieren had settled comfortably into the sofa. There were several centimeters of space between them to begin with, but as the opening credits rolled, the space got smaller and smaller, until there was just barely enough room for a piece of paper to fit between their thighs. It was chilly in the room, Kieren reasoned, and Simon felt warm against him. 

Kieren pulled the quilted throw off from the back of the sofa and draped it over Simon’s lap. Simon looked at him quizzically. 

“In case you get cold,” Kieren murmured, sinking further back into his seat. He still wasn’t sure how comfortable he was allowed to be around Simon. Though they’d been sharing the same living space for several weeks now, Simon carried his bubble of personal space around him like a physical barrier. Kieren didn’t want to be the one to breach it, and in doing so, break his trust.

There was a small smile teasing at the corner of Simon’s mouth now, and Kieren relaxed. “Thank you.” 

Simon made the mistake of looking at Kieren as he said it. In the low light, with the faint bluish glow of the television casting shadows about the room, his shiny eyes were like black holes and mirrors all at once. Golden brown, large and all-encompassing; they absorbed all visible light and reflected it back ten times brighter in the same instance. Kieren blinked and the tips of his golden eyelashes caught the light as well. Simon felt his heart actually ache at the sight, and had to turn away for fear of saying or doing something ungainly. So Kieren was pretty to look at. It wasn't not like he hadn’t managed to keep himself under control in front of attractive men before. This should be no different.

Kieren made no comment on Simon’s staring, and they watched the whole of the movie in relative peace. Simon kept up a concentrated effort to keep his eyes off of Kieren from then on, but it was a near Herculean task. Something in him was magnetizing, and Simon could feel the pull even when he wasn’t near him. It got worse the longer they lived together, the longer Simon had to spend each morning watching Kieren shuffle blearily down the stairs to shovel a bowl of plain cheerios into his mouth before he even got a coherent word out. 

Kieren could feel himself getting drowsier and drowsier towards the end of the movie. By the time the credits rolled again, he had slumped over so that his head was on the sofa’s armrest and his feet were curled beneath him. Simon was not much better. He had pulled the blanket around his shoulder like a cape and was now using it like a private tent to block out the television’s fuzzy glow. The lethargy in the air was too thick for Kieren to fight against; he fell asleep without even bothering to put up a fight. Simon dropped off soon after.

-

Sue crept downstairs in the weak light of early morning and took pause at what she saw. The living room was bathed in warm hues, alighting the slumbering figures of two young men on the sofa. One was clearly Kieren, with his fluffy mop of golden hair peeking out the top of his blanket cocoon, and the bulkier one Simon, who had an arm haphazardly slung over Kieren’s waist and was currently drooling into his shoulder blade. The quilt she had knitted years ago was tangled between them. Kieren had most of it draped over himself, and Simon had draped himself mostly over Kieren. 

Sue hesitated for a moment. Should she wake them? It was nearly seven in the morning, and no one else was awake. Her initial plan had been to whip up a quick breakfast and then rouse the rest of the family, but Kieren and Simon looked like they needed a few more hours of rest. Come to think of it, so could she. 

Sue smiled something small and private, one of the truest expressions she’d worn in these taxing weeks, and headed back upstairs. Breakfast could wait. 

\- 

At 10 am, the whole house was woken by a raucous knocking on the front door. This was unusual, to say the least. No one made house calls anymore - not after Dr Murphy had gotten his scalp chewed off by one of the corpses on his way to treat Ms Hooper’s sick child. 

Kieren was the first to lift his head at the sound. He opened his eyes and at first saw only darkness, and then, as his eyes adjusted, the tacky pattern of the sofa beneath him. He propped himself up on an elbow and found that he couldn’t quite feel the lower half of his body. There was a snuffling sound from below, and Kieren looked down to find Simon sprawled out on top of his legs. That explained the slowly burgeoning pins and needles. 

Kieren was too tired to be embarrassed about their rather friendly sleeping positions. In fact, he was pretty content to stay curled up like this for at least another hour or two, but the sound at the door was getting louder, and no one else in the house (though he could hear movement upstairs) seemed to be taking the initiative. 

With a grunt, he shoved Simon off of him as gently as possible. The man was more solid than he looked. “Oi! Calm down, will you?” Kieren grumbled sleepily. “I’m coming.”

He stumbled over to the front door gracelessly, eyes half-closed. But he didn’t forget to look through the peephole before he opened it. Never knew what sort might turn up these days. Kieren squinted until his eyes focused on the figure standing out there on the porch. There were several figures actually, but the foremost one--

Shite. 

It was Bill Macy. 

It took a hell of a lot of willpower not to open the door and curse Bill out where he stood. That was Kieren’s immediate instinct, and he felt his skin prickle with the possibility of doing so. He had to take a few deep breaths to center himself, trying to think with his rational brain instead of the barbaric part of him that wanted to lash out at him and say all of the things he’d been keeping bottled up for months - years, even. 

“Kieren?” 

Kieren jumped. “Jesus, Simon,” he breathed. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“Wha’s going on? Someone there?” Simon tumbled off the sofa in one jerking, uncoordinated movement that almost landed him flat on his face. He looked like he was still half between dreaming and reality. 

“Yeah, just, uh,” Kieren cleared his throat. “One of the neighbors. Bill Macy.” 

Simon shuffled over to him while rubbing the back of his neck and grimacing. He’d probably acquired a nice kink from sleeping in such a strange position all night. “Someone to worry about?” he asked, perceptive even while practically sleepwalking. 

“I don’t know,” Kieren said honestly. Bill knocked again with the flat of his fist, this time louder.

“C’mon, open up! I know yer in there. No one ever goes anywhere these days.”

“Will someone please shut that noise up!” a frustrated voice called from upstairs. Jem. She hated early mornings. 

Kieren steeled himself with a breath and threw the door open. Bill Macy’s face contorted into a near snarl at the sight of him. Simon noticed and subconsciously shifted closer to Kieren. Bill took a minute to compose himself, features working into something resembling civility. 

“Ah, it’s the Walker lad. What a surprise. Is the rest of yer family in?” 

“They’re sleeping,” Kieren said quietly. If he dared to speak any louder he would start shouting. 

“Well, this here is important. Wake them up, will ye?”

“You can tell me whatever you have to say. I’ll let them know.” 

Bill grit his teeth but obviously didn’t want to cause any more of a scene in front of the small group clustered behind him, who for the most part looked like they might run at the first sight of trouble. 

“Me’n a group of brave citizens are gonna start up a patrol group to keep those rotten bastards at bay. We’re gonna make the streets of Roarton safe again,” Bill paused for a moment and snickered as if he had just told himself a private joke. “I don’t s’pose you’d be interested?” 

“No,” Kieren said curtly, biting his tongue. He’d always fancied himself something of a pacifist, but announcing that now would likely garner him nothing but laughter. 

“What about yer parents? Anyone got a mean streak in them?” Kieren was about to close the door in Bill’s face when the older man suddenly began smirking. “Yer little sister looks feisty enough.”

“Fu--” Kieren began indignantly. Simon stepped closer and lay a heavy palm on his shoulder. 

“Ah,” said Bill, “and who is this lad?” 

“Simon Monroe. I just came to Roarton a few months ago. The Walkers were kind enough to take me in.” 

“A foreigner, eh? And Irish, by the sound of it.” Bill contemplated Simon -- his broad shoulders and sharp, stubbled jaw, the sturdy set of his torso. 

“He looks fit for the job,” a young woman remarked smartly from the back. She was around Jem’s age and had a poof of curly dark brown hair. 

“He’s not a native, though,” spoke another voice, this time coming from an older burly man that Kieren had seen hanging out at the Legion with Bill once or twice. 

Bill stepped up closer to Simon, so close that his hot breath must have been wafting over his face. Simon wrinkled his nose. “Can we trust you, son?”

“Well,” Simon swallowed thickly. “I--”

“Can I have a word?” Kieren asked, closing the front door before Bill could get a word in. He pulled Simon a few feet from the entryway so that their voices wouldn’t carry. “Listen, Simon, Bill’s not a good guy.” 

“I gathered that,” Simon said. “But this isn’t so much about Bill as it is about protecting Roarton.” 

“At what cost?” Kieren asked. “If you’re going to do this out of some misplaced sense of duty...”

“I want to contribute something, Kieren. If I go out with them regularly, I can bring back supplies -- food, toiletries, basic necessities. We’re already running low.” 

“It’s not worth your life. There has to be another way.” 

Light footsteps came traipsing down the stairs a moment later. “What’s going on?” 

Kieren turned to see Jem, still dressed in sleep pants and a baggy t-shirt, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. 

“Nothing, Jem. Go back to bed.” 

Jem’s nose scrunched up indignantly. She stomped the rest of her way down the stairs and planted herself in front of Kieren. She came up to just above his shoulders, but she looked at him just as defiantly as if she were towering above him. 

“I’m not a little kid anymore. You owe it to me to tell me what’s happening.” 

Kieren released a long breath and dragged his fingers through his uncombed hair. He didn’t want to keep anything from Jem, but he was worried about her. She could be a little too adventurous sometimes, and that paired with her desire to prove herself... well, it could mean trouble. Still, Jem was right. She wasn’t a child, and it wasn’t okay for him too keep important things from her just because they could be dangerous. 

“Bill Macy’s out there. He’s trying to put together a kind of neighborhood watch.”

“For what? Are they going to kill those monsters out there?” 

“ _People_ ,” Kieren said, and then snapped his mouth shut. He hadn’t even known he was going to say that. But the thought of Amy being out there, or even Gary, who he’d accidentally killed, was overwhelming. “Those monsters were people.” 

Simon looked at him like he knew exactly what he was thinking. “Kieren’s right,” he said. Kieren took a moment to be grateful before Simon opened his mouth again. “But at the same time, those things out there are trying to kill us. People or not, it’s us against them now. We either fight or accept death.” 

“Mum and dad would kill me if I left,” Jem said earnestly, though Kieren knew if she wanted to go with Bill, she would do it regardless of what their parents thought. 

At that point, Sue and Steve rushed down the stairs one after the other. Sue was tying a bathrobe around her waist, hair wet from a shower, and Steve was stumbling around with one slipper lost in his battle with the stairs. 

“What’s all this I’m hearing about leaving?” Steve asked. 

Kieren opened the front door and stepped back to reveal the group of people still standing there impatiently, grumbling to each other like a pack of disgruntled wolves. Bill spotted Steve and extended a hand graciously. 

“Mr Walker,” he said, in his best attempt to sound courteous. “we’re getting a group together to protect Roarton from the corpses walking around out there like they own the streets. Care to join?”

“I have a family to protect, Bill,” Steve said, swallowing compulsively. “It’s best if I stay home with them. Right, Sue?” 

“I’d say so,” Sue said firmly, taking a hold of her husband’s arm. She shot a fierce look at her daughter. “And Jemima, don’t you even think of it.” 

Bill didn’t really look like he expected anything else from them, but there was a hard, bitter set to his jaw anyway. Jem rolled her eyes but stayed silent and Kieren breathed a deep, relieved breath. No one he loved would be dying just yet. 

“I’ll go,” said Simon, stepping up. Kieren’s chest seized. 

“Si--” 

“It’s for the best,” Simon interjected, standing a little bit taller and looking Bill straight in his eyes. “I won’t be such a burden on your family anymore, and at the same time, I’ll be protecting you.” He glanced at Kieren as he said the last part; then realising the implication, made sure to look at everyone else in the room, one by one. “All of you.”

“Oh, Simon,” Sue started, “I hope you don’t feel obligated to do this for us. We don’t mind having you around at all.”

“Not at all,” Steve echoed. 

“It’s all right,” Simon said. “I’m doing this for myself, too.” 

“Well, come then, Monroe. Let’s take a walk and discuss the particulars,” Bill said. Simon stepped into a pair of black boots at the door walked out to stand beside him, avoiding Kieren’s gaze all the while. 

“I’ll be back,” Simon said, and turned to walk away with the rest of the group. They got smaller and smaller as they headed down the block in a V-formation. There were at least ten of them all standing so close their shoulders touched. It was like watching a hive mind in action, and Kieren felt cold at the sight. 

He stood there with the front door open for a long time, looking out into the strangely empty street. His mother was in the kitchen now, and Kieren could smell what was probably oatmeal again - gray and flavorless after they’d run of cinnamon - cooking on the stove. Steve was in the living room fiddling with the blu-ray player, wondering aloud who in the world had been watching _Donnie Darko_ last. 

Only Jem remained in the foyer watching Kieren. After a full ten minutes had passed, she walked silently to her brother and rubbed her hand on his arm in a soothing motion. 

“He’ll be back,” she repeated calmly. Kieren wondered how she could be so sure. Bill Macy had already taken Rick away. Rick, who had incidentally said those same words the last time Kieren saw him: _“I’ll be back”_. 

And look how that had turned out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry it took me this long to get a chapter out! I was doing so well for a while, but it was really all down hill once school started. I can't even tell you all how busy I've been with college applications and just general school work. 
> 
> I lost motivation for writing this story because not many people seem to be reading it, but that's not really the point of me writing it. So, again, thank you to whomever has stuck with me thus far. 
> 
> I'd also like to reiterate that if there are any American grammar mistakes/vernacular usage here, please let me know. It's a lot harder to write in British English than I thought it would be. 
> 
> If I don't update again for over a month, please someone feel free to call me out on it. Any comments/questions/thoughts/complaints: excaliburcas.tumblr.com


	8. Warm Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for brief mention of gore. chapter title taken from a song by the same name by Fink (not-so-coincidentally featured on the Walking Dead soundtrack).

A sound like metal on bone brought Simon back to the present. He blinked once, twice, three times until his vision cleared. It was dark, but he could still make out the outlines of vague shapes around him. At the forefront was Bill, who was loading a gun in front of a group of absorbed onlookers. Off to the side, a man with ratty blond hair and an underbite was swinging a metal bat back and forth so that it hit the side of a concrete building with a solid _thump_. That explained the sound. 

“See, you got to make an arc like this, so the full force of the swing knocks them right over on the first try.” 

“An’ busts their head open if yer lucky,” a short, stocky man added. He had introduced himself as Gerry. 

The girl who was watching this display rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. Look, Dean, hand me a bat, will ya?”

“Are ye sure you’ve got it?”

“ _Yes_ , for Chrissakes. Jesus, are we jus’ gonna stand here all evening? I’ve been watching you swing that bat since lunch.”

They had been training for hours. Simon’s fingers were frozen to the hilt of the old hunting knife he’d been sharpening for a good while now. Bill didn’t trust his guns with anyone but himself and a few select others. Most of their group, bar Bill and his hunting buddies, had never killed anything - for sport, self-preservation, or otherwise. Some had even brought their own guns. Simon didn’t have one, though he had gone to the shooting range with his dad once or twice as a teenager. 

It started to rain as they stood there, and Simon’s wool jumper was soaked through in an instant. They were in a fenced off area that looked a bit like a parking lot. It wasn’t far from the Walker’s house, and that worried him. He didn’t want Kieren to see him like this, with these people.

“You got a light?” 

Simon looked up at the question, almost dropping the knife in surprise. The same girl who had been watching Dean swing the bat stood before him. Her hair was cropped short and fell in tight dark ringlets around her pretty face. She was young - younger than Kieren, even. 

“Uh.” Simon was about to ask how old she was, but then he noticed the heavy bat she was holding at her side and thought it wise to stay quiet.

“I’m fourteen. Nearly fifteen,” the girl said, rolling her eyes again. “Do you have a light or not?” 

Simon had started smoking at around her age and it hadn’t done him any favors. “Look--”

“Old enough to fight, old enough to smoke,” she snapped. Well, she had a point. 

Simon dug deep into his pockets until he unearthed his old lighter, which had gone unused for almost a month now. “Keep it,” he said, handing it over. 

Her mouth curved into a very faint smile, the first hint of an emotion other than annoyance he’d seen her express. “I’m Lisa,” she told him, probably the closest he’d get to gratitude. She cupped her hands over the flame so that it wouldn’t be doused by the rain and blew out a relieved breath when the cigarette lit. 

“Simon,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“These past few weeks have been boring,” Lisa said flippantly. She scuffed her dirty combat boots against the tarmac and exhaled a lungful of smoke. Then, more genuinely, she mumbled, “Besides, I’m tired of hiding all the time.”

“So am I.”

They stood together in companionable silence while Lisa smoked the cigarette down to the filter and Simon itched for a smoke of his own. The sun was setting, casting a warm halo on Lisa’s dark hair and chasing the chill out of the October air. 

Simon turned away to face the direction of the Walker house. Sue would be making dinner now. His stomach ached with emptiness, but he thought of Kieren and Jem and how they were both still growing, and thought: _Tonight I’ll just have a piece of bread_.

Tomorrow, they would go on their first patrol. Simon was prepared to scavenge.

-

“Ah, it’s no use Bill. We don’t have enough people ‘ere to clean ‘em out,” Dean said, scrubbing a hand nervously through his greasy hair. 

Bill approached him and jabbed a finger into his chest. “I’ll do it on my own if you all are too yellow-bellied to get the job done.” He gestured to the group at large and no one made a sound. 

“I’m not going in there without a gun,” Lisa said firmly, arms crossed at her chest. 

“Shouldn’t we focus on other things first, like food?” said a stout woman from the back.

The man who had been the last to join up so far spoke up: “Yeah, my family’s near starving, Bill! I got two kids at home - you know that.”

“Our first priority is cleaning these corpses out of Roarton and making sure more can’t get in. Cutting them off at the pass, as it were.” Bill gestured to the forest behind him. Everyone knew that that was where the majority of the dead things - Simon cringed to think of them as _zombies_ \- were coming from. 

Everyone knew that Bill didn’t have much of a family to feed. It was just him and his wife, and since Bill was a bit of a survivalist after serving in the military, they had plenty of canned food to last them into the winter.

“Can we compromise?” Simon asked, speaking aloud for the first time. Bill looked at him as though he had never heard such a word. “We all go to the nearest grocery shop for an hour at most, and then afterwards we’ll head to the forest before sundown. We won’t cover all of the ground today, but we can clear out a good portion.” 

Bill opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw everyone nodding along and murmuring in agreement. He didn’t look happy about it, but after a moment of reluctance he nodded at Simon. They all shouldered their supplies - weapons, ammo, and a single first aid kit - and headed in the direction of the local Save ‘n’ Shop.

“For what it’s worth,” Lisa grumbled from beside Simon, “I still think it’s a shit idea to go into the forest without a gun.”

-

The Save ‘n’ Shop was mostly empty, except for one corpse who couldn’t move its legs at all. Bill ordered Dean to take care of it, and it only took one swift swing of the bat before it was down for good. 

They gathered up as many things as they could carry. It wasn’t long before the shelves were almost entirely stripped of nonperishables. There was a supply room in the back that probably had more, but they didn’t have time to check or enough bags to carry the food in. 

Simon grabbed heaps of canned vegetables and fruit preserves, stuff that had an expiration date at least two years in the future. He had nearly filled his backpack to the top with food that he thought everyone might like; there was just enough space left for some chunk light tuna, which he had taking an odd liking to after living in near-poverty for so long and not being able to afford anything better. But then he came across the canned meat section. There was no lamb, which was Kieren’s favorite, but there was some chicken and stewed beef, which was his second choice whenever Sue asked what he wanted for dinner. It would do in a pinch. He swept all of the meat into the remaining space in his bag and zippered it shut.

-

They lost someone in the forest. One second Bill’s mate, Gerry, was trooping along in front of Simon, gun raised at the ready, and the next he was pinned to the ground. Before anyone could even lift a weapon, the corpse had gotten a lucky bite in. Gerry’s throat was torn straight out. Simon stared at him on the ground there, at the blood pooling at the tip of his boots, and felt his vision go fuzzy around the edges. 

Everyone was staring in mute horror at the scene. The only noise was the terrible, gnawing sound of human teeth on wet flesh, and Bill’s voice yelling at them all as he rushed to where his friend lay. 

Bill gave the corpse a solid kick to the head and its neck snapped backwards for a moment before it righted itself and started back in. Bill, incensed, grabbed it by the waist and heaved it off of Gerry. Before it had a chance to take a chunk out of anyone else, he smashed his fist into its head. Once. Twice. Three times, until the head of the corpse was nothing but a bloody pulp. They all tried very hard to forget the sound of a skull cracking under the force of a fist. Someone on Simon’s right threw up. 

After that, they started to take the concept of travelling in formation more seriously. Everyone with a gun kept their fingers close to the trigger.

-

Kieren lifted his head at the sound of the front door swinging open. Simon walked in a moment later looking-- _Jesus_. Pretty bad. He was paler than Kieren had ever seen him. In the short time he’d been gone, it looked looked like his body mass had gone down by at least half. His expression was subdued, giving no indication as to what had transpired. The first thing he did was dump his bag on the floor and unlace his boots. The boots he held in his hands, refusing to let them touch the floor. They were covered in vomit.

“I’m gonna--” Simon gestured to the stains on the boots, “wash these.” He proceeded to walk up the stairs slowly, as though he had leaden weights on his feet.

Dinner that night was pleasant, if only for the fact that there was now a variety of food to choose from. Jem pretended to be sullen about the fact that there were none of her favorite foods amongst the canned goods - Simon hadn’t known what she specifically liked - but Kieren could tell that she was grateful by the softness in her eyes. 

“So, Simon,” Steve asked, swallowing down a particularly generous mouthful of chicken. “how was your day out?” The question was asked as though they were just a regular family enjoying a bountiful dinner and sharing stories about their day with each other, but there was a tenseness in the room. Everyone was waiting on tenterhooks to hear about what the outside was like, how bad it still was, if there was any chance of them seeing the light of day for themselves anytime soon.

“Well,” Simon swallowed and wiped roughly at his mouth with a napkin until his lips were raw and chapped. “It was... it was...” 

“Have a look outside if you want to see for yourself, Dad,” Kieren cut in, purposefully obnoxious. Simon gave him an unmistakably grateful smile. 

“He was just curious, Kieren,” Sue admonished, but she looked secretly grateful too. No one brought it up again. 

After dinner, Kieren helped his mum clean up the table and do the dishes, and for moment, everything felt disturbingly normal. Jem was in her room blasting heavy metal, Dad was doing whatever it was he did with his free time upstairs, and Kieren was looking forward to a night of screwing around on his gameboy or maybe settling down with a good book.

One blessing they had to be grateful for throughout this whole ordeal was the fact that they somehow still had running water and electricity. The WiFi was out, and so were the TV and radio signals, but everything thing else was untouched as of yet. Kieren hoped to Hell it stayed that way, because he wasn’t sure how long he could last without taking regular showers.

His mum joined Steve in her room after they were done in the kitchen, claiming she was tired from a long day of being idle. Kieren wiped his hands dry on a rag and went to follow her upstairs, but stopped when he saw Simon sprawled out on the sofa, head lolling listlessly over the edge of the backrest.

Kieren quietly made his way to sofa and sat down gingerly so as not to disturb him. Simon rolled his head towards Kieren anyway, blinking tiredly. 

“Are you okay?” Kieren asked softly. He hadn’t even meant to let the words out, but Simon had dark bags under his eyes and a grim set to his jaw. Kieren felt his stomach twist unhappily just looking at him.

“Been better,” Simon said easily, shrugging. He closed his eyes and didn’t reopen them for almost a full minute. “Also been worse.”

“I know it’s not my responsibility to look after you,” Kieren started, “but I wish you hadn’t agreed to join them. It’s already taking a toll on you.”

“Someone had to do it,” Simon said. “Better me than you or Jem.” 

Kieren laughed half-heartedly at the thought. “Jem would probably make a pretty fierce zombie-killer, though. Don’t you think?”

Simon snorted. “If that music of hers is any indication...”

Kieren laughed again to try to bridge the huge, terrible abscess of churning anxiety in his gut. He could joke about it all he wanted, but he would never wish this kind of thing on anyone. Just putting down that one corpse that attacked Simon outside a few weeks ago had wrecked him. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to do that on a regular basis. To constantly be on guard against a threat that could come from any direction at any time - a threat that wore a human face, no less. 

“I watched someone’s throat get torn out today,” Simon said suddenly. He touched a hand to his throat immediately afterwards, as though he wasn’t sure where the words had come from. “That’s where the vomit came from. Someone got sick after seeing it.” 

Kieren itched to put a hand on Simon’s shoulder to comfort of him, but was too unsure of himself to do so. What if it made Simon uncomfortable? He took a moment to reflect back on the times they had confided in each other before this. Simon had never given him any indication that he was uncomfortable with physical contact. In fact, he usually indicated the opposite. 

Kieren tentatively lay a palm on Simon’s shoulder and angled his body to face him more directly. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I don’t really know what else to say besides that.” 

“That’s enough,” Simon said, relaxing further back into the sofa. His face was only a few inches from Kieren’s own, and both of them were intensely but passively aware of the distance. “So, how was your day?”

“Oh, loads of fun,” Kieren said, rolling his eyes in good-humor. “At noon I broke out the _Doctor Who_ DVDs and had myself a little marathon. Tried to get Jem to join in, but she was more interested in her video games.” 

Simon idly reached out to pick at the fraying hem of Kieren’s jumper. “Without me?”

Kieren felt warmth pool in his stomach, chasing away some of the cold tendrils of anxiety that had taken hold. “I didn’t even know you liked _Doctor Who_!” he said, incredulous. 

“It depends,” Simon said. “Which Doctor?”

“The Eleventh.”

“Ah, the cute one.” 

Kieren scoffed, but not before reddening slightly. “I watch it for the _plot_ , Simon. I don’t know about you.” 

“Just like I watched _Labyrinth_ for the plot.” Simon had mirth in his eyes, and even though Kieren knew he was being teased, he was glad to see it there. It was better than the hollowness that had preceded it.

“Hey, I genuinely enjoyed that film!”

“So did I,” Simon said. “Just for different reasons.”

“Probably not,” Kieren mumbled. 

“What?” 

“I mean, probably not for very different reasons,” Kieren clarified. Then, smiling, “David Bowie _is_ a sight to behold.”

“Oh?” Simon was full-on grinning at this point, and made no attempt to hide it. “I suppose he would be the exception for a lot of straight men.” 

“I don’t know,” Kieren said cooly. “You’d you have to ask an actual straight guy about that.”

Simon tipped his head back and regarded Kieren silently for a moment. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but there were still hints of amusement in his eyes and in the soft, upturned curve of his mouth. Kieren had just told him he wasn’t straight in the most roundabout way possible, and he knew Simon had gotten the message. Now it was just a matter of how he reacted. 

“Does anyone else know?” Simon asked, as casually as if he were discussing the weather.

“I haven’t told anyone directly. I think Jem suspects, though. And Rick - my, um, best mate... from before. He knew.”

Simon nodded thoughtfully. “I came out to my mom one night when I was tripping on acid,” he said. “She didn’t say anything except not to tell my dad.”

“That’s rough.”

Simon shrugged. “I didn’t really expect anything else. She treated me just the same afterwards. Most of the time I was horrible to them anyway. They didn’t owe me anything.” 

“Accepting your children for who they are shouldn’t be a favor,” Kieren said firmly.

“Well, I was still a kid then. I took what I could get.”

“I don’t know what’s keeping me from telling my own parents.” Kieren tapped his fingers against his knee in a nervous rhythm. “I guess I just like how they think of me now. I wouldn’t want to change it, even a little.” 

“I think they’d understand,” Simon said gently. He was doing that thing again where it looked like he had tuned out the entire world, like his attention had narrowed to one single, unwavering point of interest. “Your mum especially. Sue is a smart lady.” 

Kieren smiled, thinking of his mum’s kind eyes for a moment. “She probably already knows, in her own way.” 

Simon nodded like he thought so too. His attention broke then, and in that moment he realised his fingers were still worrying at the threads of Kieren’s clothing. He snatched his hand away before either of them could say anything and Kieren shifted so that his hand was no longer practically in Simon’s lap. 

“You should get some rest,” Kieren said, extracting his limbs from the sofa one by one and standing. “You probably have a long day ahead of you.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed. Kieren turned to leave but Simon stepped forward suddenly, eyes darting from Kieren’s face to the sofa as though he were playing mental ping pong. “If I’m... if I ever don’t come home. If I don’t...”

“Simon--”

“No, listen. It’s a very real possibility. If I die out there, just know that I’m thankful. And make sure you parents know it, too. You’ve all done so much more for me than you needed to.”

“Okay,” Kieren agreed. What else could he do? He got the impression that no one else had ever done as much for Simon in his entire life as they had in just a few weeks. “I will. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Simon said again. He sat back down on the sofa. 

“Get some sleep.” Kieren went up to his room, then, with Simon’s words ringing like church bells in the back of his head. He wasn’t able to fall asleep until the earliest hours of morning. When he woke up much later, Simon was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to keep this chapter pretty light because I feel like there's some pretty big stuff coming up ahead!
> 
> So, I literally cannot thank you all enough for being so sweet and encouraging after I whined about the lack of feedback in the last author note. Sorry about that. Sometimes I get a little unsure of my writing as, well, any human does about something they put effort and caring into, but all of your comments and messages made me feel a lot better about myself and motivated me to churn this chapter out as soon as I could.
> 
> Anyway, I'd love to hear from you still, so comment below or contact me at excaliburcas.tumblr.com. I'm always happy to here from you, but I am (as always) busy with school, so I apologize if my response is not immediate.
> 
> (Fun Fact: I actually don't watch Doctor Who, but I see it on my dash often enough and Matt Smith is pretty nice to look at. Oops.)


	9. A Rotter's a Rotter

Pearl Pinder slammed down a pint of bitter on the bartop and grinned at every tired, dirty face lined up in front of her. “Here’s to all of you volunteers out tonight. To the living, and to the fallen, who protected us when no one else would.” 

A cheer rose up from the back of the bar; it swelled in volume until it was all anyone could hear - that roaring, wild sound of victory. 

Bill rose his pint and everyone quieted at once, as though it were all rehearsed. “We still ‘ave a lot of work to do,” he acknowledged solemnly. “But at least we’ve taken back the streets from those rotting bastards once and for all!” 

Another cheer, this one even louder. The last winter chill had finally been chased out of the air, and everyone was flushed pink with triumph and the onset of spring. After a few more toasts and several rounds of cheering, everyone scattered to sit at the little wooden tables or in the old booths. People gathered in groups; they laughed, talked, and drank, thrilled to be alive and out of their houses.. 

Simon went along with it all easily, but even after all of these months, he still felt a distance between himself and these people who he spent the majority of his time with. Feeling strangely introspective, so he sat at one of the quieter tables. There was were only two people here: Lisa was on his right, and Dean to his left. 

Dean was telling a story of sorts, but Simon got the impression he was talking only to himself. Lisa mostly ignored him altogether whenever he spoke, which Simon thought was probably wise. Dean was a bit of a joke amongst the group. It was frankly a miracle that he was even still alive, with all of the clumsy stumbling around he did when they were out. God help Simon if he were to ever get paired off with him for a patrol.

Simon was drifting in and out of the conversation, occasionally contributing a word or two, when he caught the tail end of Dean’s sentence: “-- Gary last night.”

Simon sat up rigid in his chair and put his hands on the table. “What was that?” 

Dean scrunched up his face, annoyed at having to repeat himself. “No one will believe me! I’m telling you I saw Gary Kendal last night in the forest.” 

Simon thought back to the night when Kieren almost shook apart in front of him - the despair in his voice, the taut line of his mouth as he confessed what had happened in the cemetery. Simon swallowed something bitter-tasting in his mouth. “Yeah? In what state did you find him?” 

“Dead, of course. Y’know, I watched as they lowered ‘im into the ground. Sad day, that was. Gary used to be my mate.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when you saw him?” Simon asked, fingers curling into fists. Lisa glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, brow furrowing suspiciously, and Simon made an effort to visibly relax. 

“He was a ways off and we were headin’ home already,” Dean said defensively.

“We can’t just leave him roaming around like that. He’s just as much of a danger to Roarton as any other--” Simon bit his tongue to stop himself from finishing the sentence.

“Rotter!” Dean said, slamming a meaty fist on the table in exclamation. “Why won’t you just say it?”

“Yeah,” Lisa agreed, speaking for the first time tonight. She turned the full brunt of her gaze onto Simon. “What’s your hang up with that word?” 

Truthfully, it was Kieren who didn’t like the word ‘rotter.’ He had never said anything about it aloud, but Simon saw how he flinched every time Jem used it casually around the house. Simon had a hunch that some part of Kieren still viewed the corpses as the people they once were. 

“I mean, we kill them every day, so what’s the sense in being shy about it?” Lisa continued. 

“It’s disrespectful,” Simon said curtly. He wasn’t going to budge on this issue. If he started using it flippantly all the time around the patrol group, he might slip up and say it in front of Kieren. 

“To whom?” Lisa asked. “It’s not like they respect _us_.”

“To the people who they once were, and to the families of those people,” Simon said.

“Bull,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes. “They’re trying to kill us. No sense in being politically correct.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed heartily. He took a sip from his pint and belted at the top of his lungs, “A rotter’s a rotter!” There was a chorus of affirmative shouts from all around the pub. 

Simon took a long sip of his drink and stood abruptly. “I have to go.”

That wasn’t strictly true. The Walkers usually didn’t expect him home until well after sundown, and right now the sky was only just starting to darken. Lisa waved him off and Dean turned away, silent. They hadn’t exactly been friendly with each other these past few months. Simon tried to treat everyone with the same level of neutrality, but Dean and Lisa were the exceptions. Dean was just stupid, and Simon often felt himself get frustrated with him. Lisa, on the other hand, was smart for her age. She always seemed to know Simon was thinking, but she never pushed. Though they didn’t talk much, they had a decent rapport.

Simon walked to the Walker’s house without incident. These days, there weren’t many zombies roaming about residential streets, as those had been the first areas to be cleared out. It was only just after dinner, but the lights in all of the houses were turned out. 

When he knocked on the door, Jem was the one to open it. She let him in with a faint smile. The house was absolutely silent, and there was no one in the living room. 

“Kieren’s in his room,” she explained. “Mum and Dad went out a little while ago.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “This is their first time out since the Rising, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Jem said. “Mum said she couldn’t take one more day of Dad talking about his old films or what the weather was like. Mum was the one to drag him out.” 

“Are you sure they’re safe?”

“They took the car - just went for a short drive, I think. They filled up the tank with that little bit of gas you siphoned for us last week.” Jem smiled for real this time, and it made her look about ten years younger. “Thanks for that, by the way. Thought I’d go nuts if I had to live another day stuck in this house with them.”

Simon shrugged. “It was nothing.” 

“Speaking of,” Jem said, suddenly hesitant. She sat down on the sofa and Simon followed her cue and did the same, sitting a few feet away from her. “I wanted to talk to you about Kieren.”

Simon made a conscious effort not to tense up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he’s, um... he hasn’t been doing so well these past few weeks.” 

Simon’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve been gone a lot lately, and he hasn’t had anything to occupy himself with. When I ask him what he does all day he tells me ‘playing video games’ or ‘reading’, but every time I check in on him he’s just lying there on his bed. I think...” Her breath hitched for a second. “I’m afraid. I don’t want him to go back to the way he was before...” She scrubbed a hand through her hair, uncharacteristically flustered. “Before he met you, I guess.” 

“I’ll talk to him,” Simon promised. “I don’t know why I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Well, you’ve been gone a lot lately.” At the immediate remorseful twist to Simon’s expression, Jem backtracked quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way. I understand. It’s not like you’re honor-bound to us or anything.” 

“I’m still sorry about it,” Simon said earnestly. He folded his hands in lap and worried the fabric of his jumper in between his thumbs. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” 

“I know,” Jem said, lips quirked in a smile that could almost be described as coy. “He feels the same way.” 

-

Kieren lay prostrate on his bed. It was cold in his room, as it always was these days. It was cold no matter what he did, and he’d tried everything: blankets, a space heater, a hot shower. He was beginning to suspect it wasn’t so much the atmosphere in his room as it was something inside of him that refused to be warmed. 

It was getting late now, and his parents would probably be back from their drive soon. It was good for them to get out. Kieren had wanted to go with them, but some insidious part of him hadn’t allowed him to leave his bed. He had been stuck there, as though adhered to the sheets, for days now. It was strange to be able to feel himself sinking back into isolation and not be able to do a thing about it. 

He was stuck. _Stuck_. Stuck like he’d never been before. Not when Rick died, or Amy, or even Gary, because all of those times he’d been isolated by his own choice. Now it was a bit of both. He couldn’t leave the house without a gun, a chainsaw, or a car (or maybe a bat, if he was feeling lucky), and besides that, there was no where to go. 

The old paths he used to walk at night to clear his head were dangerous now. And he had a feeling that no amount of walking could clear his head at this point.

Half-way between sleep and consciousness, Kieren heard a faint knock on the door. “What is it, Jem?”

“Not Jem.” 

Kieren startled. “Simon? You’re home already?”

“I left a little earlier than expected. Just wasn’t feeling it tonight.” He waited a beat. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” He supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to talk to Simon. After all, he had barely seen him these past few weeks. 

Simon opened the door slowly, as though he were afraid of knocking into something or potentially scaring Kieren away. He looked exhausted, almost as much as Kieren himself did. There was a bit of mud streaked across his forehead, and a healing abrasion on his left cheek.

“Are you okay?” Kieren asked, propping himself up. He shimmied to the side a bit to make room for Simon on his bed. “Sit down.” 

“I’m fine,” Simon said, sitting. “I just wanted to talk to you for a bit. We haven’t seen much of each other lately, have we?”

“We haven’t,” Kieren agreed. “Hard to believe we’re living under the same roof sometimes.” 

Simon grimaced and Kieren’s mouth tightened at the sight. That had come out more bitterly than intended. 

“We’ve pretty much cleared out the main streets,” Simon said, changing the subject. “And Pearl reopened the Legion for business. Things are going to change from here on out.” 

Kieren nodded vacantly, only half-listening. “What do you see out there, Simon?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s it like? Killing them, I mean. Have you recognized anyone yet? I know you didn’t live here for long before the Rising, but I was thinking... surely you must have recognized someone.”

“I haven’t,” Simon said quietly. Then, more hesitantly: “Although Dean Halton told me he saw Gary in the forest last night.”

Kieren drew in a sharp breath and swallowed the displaced air. “Are you going to kill him?”

“He’s already dead,” Simon reminded him gently. “We’d just be putting him out of his misery.”

Kieren’s hand shot out and wrapped itself tightly around Simon’s wrist. “Don’t.”

“Kieren--”

“No. Don’t, Simon. _Please_.” Kieren’s fingernails were biting tiny red crescents into his skin now. “It’s my fault. It’s _my_ fault. Please don’t do this. I need to make it right first.” 

Kieren’s eyes were wet, and Simon relented immediately. “Okay. I won’t touch him. I’ll find a way to keep Dean from going near him.” 

Kieren sagged like a deflated balloon, fingers slackening, shoulders slumping. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Simon was doing that half-smile thing he always did when he wasn’t sure of where he stood. He rubbed inconspicuously at the marks on his wrists from Kieren’s nails. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Kieren said. 

“It’s nothing,” Simon assured. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” There was no sense in being dishonest when Simon could usually see right through him.

“That makes two of us.” Simon toed his boots off and swung his legs up onto the bed.

“At least you’re getting out every day. I feel like I’m trapped,” Kieren said. 

“If you need me to stay around here more, you know I will.” 

“I know,” Kieren said. “But I can take take of myself. It’s just this idleness that’s getting to me. I start to... think about things I shouldn’t. I can’t even walk down the hallway without seeing my paintings of Rick all over the place.”

“Rick was your best mate, right? You never told me much about him.”

“Yeah, he was. But we were also-- involved.” It felt good to say it out loud. He had never admitted it to anyone before.

“What happened?” Simon asked softly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He’d known for a long time now that there was a lot Kieren was keeping from him, but that was okay. Everyone was entitled to their own stories. 

“I drove him away. Or his dad did. We were both at fault, I guess. His dad thought I was a bad influence - thought I was going to turn his son gay, probably.” Kieren laughed at the hilarity of that concept. “He went off to Afghanistan a few months before the Rising.”

“Did you hear from him after that?”

“I sent letters for a while, but there was no reply. I assumed he’d moved on.” Kieren looked down and picked anxiously at a loose thread in his duvet. “An IED exploded near his campsite a few weeks in. They never found a body.”

Simon lay a hand over his own for a brief moment, rubbing warmth into Kieren’s palm with his thumb.

“I loved him,” Kieren said. “I’d known him all my life, so it was pretty much a given.You know what the funny thing is, though? When I close my eyes, I don’t see him as much as I see Gary. You don’t know how much blood there was, Simon. Sometimes it’s all I can see.”

“I’m sorry.” Simon felt inadequate saying so. There wasn’t much he could do these days except apologize. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you.”

Kieren shrugged. “You’ve never killed anyone who was alive, have you? You’ve killed the dead, but that’s different. You don’t have to watch as the life leaves them.” 

“You’re right. I don’t know what that’s like. But I do know that what happened doesn’t make you any less of a person. You shouldn’t hate yourself for this.” Simon brought the hand in Kieren’s palm up to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, steadying them both. “You once told me that my addictions didn’t define me. This doesn’t define you, either.”

Kieren felt pressure build up behind his forehead, and knew that he was going to cry. Then he took a look at Simon, all earnest and concerned, and found himself suddenly laughing instead. It was the strangest thing, but laughing felt better than crying, and it released the tension in his head just the same. It was only when he quieted that he realised that Simon was staring at him quizzically, both eyebrows raised. 

“If someone had told me a year ago that this would be my life now, I would have been hysterical,” Kieren explained.

“I probably wouldnt’ve believed it myself,” Simon said, huffing out an exasperated breath.

The door swung open then, and they both jumped guiltily, as if caught in the act. It was Jem. She looked back and forth between the two of them for a long moment, pointedly noting the hand that Simon still had on Kieren, which had now migrated down to his shoulder. 

“Mum and dad are home,” she said haltingly. “Just thought I’d let you know...” Jem gave them one last look and then shut the door firmly behind her as she left.

This time when Kieren burst out in a bout of half-delirious laughter, Simon went right along with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all of the feedback!! I love you guys. Special thanks to those who make the effort to contact me on tumblr, too. 
> 
> Also, sorry if it seems like I'm dwelling on Rick and Gary's death so much. I just feel like killing someone (however accidentally) or losing a best friend isn't something a teenage boy just forgets about overnight. I really want this story to be largely about Kieren's journey to forgiving himself, and how he hopefully eventually achieves that. 
> 
> In other news, you don’t know how much restraint it takes to not just write “and then they furiously made out and lived happily ever after” at the end of each chapter. Writing is _hard_. 
> 
> P.S. The timeline for a bunch of events from the Rising to the canon era of the show isn't really clear, so I'm kind of just making shit up as I go and suiting things to my liking. If anyone notices a huge discrepancy somewhere, let me know though, because I'm writing this story in large chunks and sometimes it's hard to catch a continuity error.


	10. Are You There, God?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> VERY BRIEFLY nsfw

_There was no way out. There were no walls, because walls would be too obvious. No, instead there was just the air that wasn’t really air - thick, syrupy, filling his lungs and caking his skin with its tar-like consistency. And a plethora of hands reaching out into the darkness, scrambling to touch a patch of skin and stain it slick with red. The hands were everywhere, cold and fleshless, a bunch of bones knitted together in a gnarled approximation of a human appendage._

_There was nothing but the cold, and the quiet, and impossibility of escape. He had two options: resign himself to it, or fight with every remaining shred of vitality he had and risk losing anyway. He closed his eyes because it didn’t really matter it they were open or not; he couldn’t see anything either way. It was the kind of darkness where you couldn’t even see anything against your eyelids. Usually when your eyes first close there is some after-image imprinted in your retinas - a neon burst of light that fractures and blurs for a moment, keeping you from absolute darkness. Here, there was nothing of the sort._

_He began to doubt if he could see at all. He began to doubt his physical body, the limitations of his mind, his ability to gauge the space between his fingers. Was he real? Was he real? What was real anyway? What was--_

_The sudden absence of touch. The hands had withdrawn. He was still cold, but now he was empty, too. The air had thinned; he could no longer wear it like a cloak around him. There was nothing but what he thought was his body and the space surrounding it. The thin membrane of his skin grew tight with awareness; it knew that it was the only thing that separated him from the outside, the darkness._

_He opened his eyes and startled. Before him, a mirror. Small, grounded in nothing. Just a reflective piece of glass that seemed to be illuminated from within. He could see nothing in it but himself, though his features were wrong somehow. They were blurry and indistinct, just like an after-image of light. Only one thing stood out - eyes. His eyes._

_Wide open and white like egg shells and bird bones. White and vacant. Luminescent like all of the light in the universe condensed to two single pin pricks. The opposite of a black hole. The only light in the entire universe._

Kieren woke up screaming. For at least a full minute, he was unaware of his body entirely. Whether he was moving or paralyzed he didn’t know; he only knew that he was awake, and that just like in the dream, he couldn’t see anything except for the dark. What if it hadn’t been a dream at all? 

The first physical sensation he became aware of was hands on his ankles and wrists, pinning him down. His immediate reaction to this was to thrash violently, trying to throw them off. It was happening just like it had in the dream. It had all been real, hadn’t it? 

Except these hands weren’t cold, really. They were warm and fleshy, like real human hands should be. Kieren drew in a sharp breath of air that scraped his throat raw on the way down and opened his eyes for real this time. 

The light nearly blinded him for a moment, and it took several rapid blinks to make out anything beyond shadows. The first face that came into view was his Jem’s, and he nearly sobbed with relief at the sight of her. The next person he saw was his mum. She had her arms locked tight around his legs to keep him still and a face that crumpled like ashes. Kieren felt a swell of shame. He was the one who had put that look on her face. 

“Kieren.” The first sound he had heard in hours. Simon. He stood to his left and had his arm locked securely across Kieren’s clavicle. “Are you with us?”

Kieren coughed several times to clear the crust from his throat. “Yeah, I’m--” He shook his head to clear it. “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry for waking everyone up. I just...”

“Don’t apologize,” said Jem fiercely. She took a hold of Kieren’s hand and squeezed tight enough to burst the skin.

“This is the third time this week,” Kieren acknowledged sheepishly, brushing her off. “All of you are getting less sleep than I am at this point.” 

“I don’t mind,” Steve said, and Kieren suddenly noticed that his dad was there, too, only hunched in on himself and further off to the side. Kieren scanned all of their faces in turn and saw identical expressions of concern and exhaustion on them. This was his family. They loved him. He tried to keep that in mind, but it was very hard not to feel like a burden. 

“None of us mind, silly,” Sue said, rubbing warmth into Kieren’s numb legs. She patted him on the knee and Kieren chewed anxiously on his bottom lip, trying not to apologize again. 

“Do you need someone to stay with you for the rest of the night?” Jem asked.

Kieren felt another bolt of shame sear its way down his spine. He was worse than a child. “No, I’m fine now. I should sleep through it.” 

He wouldn’t and he knew it. Once he had a nightmare like that, he stayed up until the next time the sun set, when he was too tired to keep his eyes open a second longer. Simon looked at him like he saw right through it.

One by one, after everyone had given Kieren a parting kiss, hug, or hair ruffle, they filed out of his room sluggishly, dragging their feet. Everyone except Simon, who remained perched on one knee by Kieren’s bed side. 

“I’m going to stay,” he said, in a voice that didn’t leave room for argument. Kieren shrugged one shoulder and didn’t have it in him to protest. 

“At least sleep in the bed instead of on the floor again.” 

Simon ran a hand through his black hair and adjusted his pajama bottoms before he crawled in beside Kieren. The bed wasn’t strictly big enough for the two of them, but they made it work with some maneuvering. Eventually, Simon ended up with an arm slung across Kieren’s middle and a nose that dug into the nape of his neck. Whenever he breathed in, Simon got a few pieces of fragrant golden hair in his mouth, and had to politely spit them out every few seconds until Kieren got the memo and shifted his head forward. 

They lay silent and content for several minutes, Kieren feeling more than hearing Simon’s heart beat and trying to match his own to it. Just the warmth of his body behind him, the solidity, was enough to anchor him back in reality. 

“What was it about this time?” 

“The same thing it always is,” Kieren said quietly. He felt a chill go through him despite the newfound pocket of warmth their bodies had created together. “Just the darkness.” 

“That it?” Simon’s breath heated his neck for a moment. Kieren hesitated.

“It always ends the same, too.” Kieren burrowed further into the covers and, incidentally, into Simon’s body. “White eyes watching me. I usually wake up at that point.” 

The words struck a chord of familiarity in Simon. He remembered, vaguely, the same image in his own head, but he couldn’t trust himself. He couldn’t tell if his brain was just confabulating the memory based on Kieren’s description, or if he had really seen those eyes himself once. If he had, it was months ago. He hadn’t thought the dream was important at the time, but now, if Kieren was having the same ones-- well, that had to mean something.

“That sounds awful,” Simon told him. Kieren didn’t need to know anything yet, especially when Simon could be wrong. There was no reason to worry him needlessly. 

“You should sleep,” Kieren responded eventually. “I know you have to clear out the rest of the forest tomorrow. You’ll need all your energy for that.” 

Simon yawned in agreement and turned his face into the pillow. “You should meet us at the Legion afterwards. The group isn’t so bad once you get to know them.” 

“We’ll see,” Kieren said, which most likely meant ‘no’. It was much safer these days to go outside, and most people in Roarton made it out for short day trips when the weather was nice, but there was always an air of caution to be had whenever you were beyond of the safe confines of your own house. Being outside was about relearning your own boundaries; Kieren hadn’t fully done that yet, and he wasn’t ready to kill anyone in self-defense again, even if they _were_ already dead. 

“Okay,” Simon mumbled agreeably. “But you should come. Miss you during the day.”

Kieren smiled, even though he knew Simon was half-delirious with exhaustion. “Good night, Simon.” 

Simon’s only response was the soft, steady sound of his breathing as it evened out in sleep.

-

Simon woke up slowly and pleasantly, wading through a pool of honey and into the world of warm consciousness. The late morning sun rays slanting in through the windows lit Kieren’s bedroom in various shades of saffron and orange. It turned Kieren’s messy mop of hair a radiant shade of yellow and gilded the tips of his eyelashes in gold.

Simon’s stomach warmed at the sight, but it wasn’t only that. His cheeks heated as he acknowledged the feeling in his lower body for what it was. He quickly scooted to the edge of the bed, extracting his hips from where they’d been cradling Kieren’s.

Jesus. He hadn’t woken up this hard since he was sixteen and had that dream about Bill Carter in those spandex gym shorts. It was fucking embarrassing. Even worse, Kieren was sound asleep, which was a rarity these days. If Simon had accidentally woken him for something so stupid, he would have hated himself for it. 

The pleasant feeling was gone. He chanced a glance at Kieren’s alarm clock, distantly realising that he would be late to the patrol group’s meeting. Simon slipped out of the bed, taking care not to let any cold air seep under the covers, and shuffled his way out of the bedroom silently. The hallway was empty, and he could smell Sue cooking something for breakfast downstairs. 

Luckily, the bathroom was unoccupied too. Simon shut himself inside and pressed his back up against the door, taking deep breaths to cool his too-warm skin. He had been right to sleep on the floor all of the other times he spent the night in Kieren’s bedroom. It was dangerous to sleep beside him. He found more often than not that he couldn’t trust himself, and this predicament was just proof of that.

Despite how ashamed he felt, the tension in his body hadn’t left him. He still felt the lazy curl of arousal in his gut, the heaviness between his legs. He slipped a hand into his briefs without consciously making the decision, hissing when his cold hand made contact with the base of his cock. 

A series of images flashed through his head at once: Kieren’s pouting, pink lips, the sly curve of his mouth, the shaggy sweep of his hair, overgrown and making him appear more boyish than he actually was. Right, boyish. Because Kieren was essentially still a kid, and he would never want someone like Simon, who had nothing left to offer him. Simon felt guilt like a hot stone in his stomach, and it was so overwhelming that it chased any other feeling away. 

He quickly took his hand out of his briefs and resolved to take a cold shower instead.

-

Simon arrived thirty minutes late to the meeting. The small church was quiet and dark when he entered. Bill sat on the stage with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Simon’s footsteps echoed obnoxiously as he walked down the aisles of chairs to the front row. 

“What’s going on, Bill?” Simon asked quietly, waving his arm to indicate the room at large.

For a long moment, Bill was too angry to speak. His shoulders hunched in on themselves and his lower jaw swiveled from side to side, teeth grinding themselves smooth. “Bastard government has come to save the day.” 

“What?”

When Bill refused to elaborate, Simon turned to the scattered people behind them. One stout woman named Jill of about thirty or forty rose to her feet and gestured to the back of the room, where they could talk without being overheard by Bill. 

“Vicar got a call this morning from the parish council the next town over,” Jill whispered. “Government went and showed up overnight; turned the whole town on its head. They even made the some of the volunteer fighters go with them.” 

“Why would they do that?” 

“Word is, they’re packing up some of the dead’uns up into lorries and carting them off to God knows where.” 

“ _What_?” Simon had the sudden and bizarre urge to laugh. The thought of government agents arriving by nightfall and herding reanimated corpses into vehicles was too absurd to take seriously. The government had been entirely unhelpful to the rural towns so far, absent for all of the long winter months because they were too busy cleaning up the cities. Why would they bother to show up now? 

Simon saw something else in Jill’s grim face, something that she was keeping from him. Simon ducked his head down to her level and gave her a mildly charming smile. He gestured over to Bill.

“There’s something else, isn’t there? You can tell me. It’s okay.”

“Well, the government showing up was enough to rile Bill, but that’s not what really got him like this.” Jill sighed and said, very quietly, “They’ve issued a no-kill order on the dead. There are even rumors of laws being put into place within the next few months to _protect _them.”__

__Simon grew quiet. He could not think of a single response to that information. He had seen and heard a lot of nonsensical things in his time, but this had to take the cake. There was absolutely no reason for the government to go to this level of involvement so abruptly and fiercely unless something big had happened._ _

__Jill opened her mouth to console him, because Simon guessed he looked upset - though really he was more bewildered than anything - when one of the last remaining hunting buddies of Bill slammed a meaty fist against the back of his chair and stood._ _

__“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m not gonna sit here all day with my thumbs up my arse like some jobless wanker. I came here to patrol, so let’s get to it. Government troops haven’t stepped foot on Roarton soil yet; we have no excuse.”_ _

__“Yeah,” Dean said, shooting up from his chair like he had been planning to all along. “One last time, Bill!”_ _

__Lisa took a swill of the cider that was being passed amongst the rows of people and raised the bottle in agreement. “Cheers!”_ _

__Others jeered and whistled, and there were a few shouts of “one last time!” and “for Roarton!” echoing throughout the small space. Bill hopped off the stage and slung his rifle over shoulder wordlessly. He kept quiet the whole time as he made his way through the aisles and out the front door. The first word he spoke, in fact, was when the whole group was already half-way to the forest._ _

__“Head in first and scout the area, Monroe,” Bill grunted._ _

__Simon turned his head, eyebrow raised. For a moment he couldn’t think of why he might be singled out, until he remembered this morning; walking in late and addressing Bill so casually when he had clearly been in the midst of a rage had been foolish of him._ _

__Simon complied without fuss. It wasn’t the right time to argue. It was almost sunny out, for once, and the tempered heat was making everyone more irritable than usual. That combined with the news this morning was a potential recipe for disaster._ _

__It was considerably cooler under the cover of the forest canopy, and the atmosphere was thicker with moisture, too. It was the kind of air that hung in a low mist near the ground and clung to your skin, causing dew to bead on the surface. Sweat spilled down Simon’s temples in itchy rivulets, grating on his nerves._ _

__Other than the weather, there was not much else of note. Everything was still, but that wasn’t particularly extraordinary - just eerie. It had been almost this quiet right before the Rising. Simon trekked through the underbrush with only his crunching footsteps to accompany him. He picked up his two-way radio to let Bill know that the path ahead was clear when he heard the first sound._ _

__A faint pop went off to his right, like a homemade firecracker. Simon stilled immediately and fingered the magazine of his gun where it was holstered. There was another pop, this time closer. Simon identified it as the sound of branches snapping._ _

__He turned in a circle and caught sight a blur of movement a few meters ahead. There was a vaguely human-shaped figure emerging from the fog like a phantom. The features were brought into sharper relief the closer it came, until Simon could not see it for anything but what it was. His stomach went cold._ _

__The figure was a man who barely looked like a man anymore, with a face covered entirely in blood. It was such a garish, vivid red that it looked like a child had face-painted the devil onto his skin. He didn’t have to think hard about who this might be. He hadn’t seen him in months, and their first and only meeting had been brief and unpleasant, but he knew._ _

__Simon could see the dent in his head from where he’d cracked it on the tombstone and bled out. It was Gary. No doubt most of the red streaked on his face was on account of that, but that didn’t explain the fresh blood painting his lips and teeth._ _

__Simon felt a shiver go through him. He’d seen what these things did to people - how they ripped faces off, clawed at a scalp until it was in tatters. Seeing the evidence on someone he knew was different. Kieren had killed him - though it hadn’t been intentional - and now Gary had taken lives of his own._ _

__Kieren could never know of this. It was enough that he knew Gary was out there, but it would be worse still if he knew Simon had killed him. Because that’s exactly what he was going to do. The others would be getting suspicious by now. He hurriedly slid the gun out of its holster and worked to steady his hand as he aimed at Gary, who was just far enough that Simon could get a good shot without putting himself in danger._ _

__Simon felt his breath stick in his throat as his finger found the trigger. One shot and he could end this for Kieren. Gary would be gone, and there would no chance of him ever coming back to haunt Kieren. Simon would be taking care of him, protecting him. No one would even have to know it was him, though it didn’t matter either way. The citizens of Roarton turned a blind eye to killing rotters, and the patrol group practically viewed it as a sport. It would be so easy._ _

__But then he remembered Kieren’s distraught face from the other night, and he paused for a moment. He had told Kieren he wouldn’t touch Gary. Promised, in fact, that he wouldn’t seek him out. He hadn’t technically broken that promise yet. It wasn’t his intention to come across Gary this morning._ _

__Simon withdrew his finger from the trigger and blew out a frustrated breath. He couldn’t. Not when he’d given his word. Kieren wanted to make it right, and Simon trusted him to do so. He wouldn’t rob him of that opportunity._ _

__Simon holstered the gun again and replaced it with the radio. “All clear. Let’s head ‘round to the north side.”_ _

__“Roger that,” Bill responded._ _

__Simon took one last look at Gary. He was moving slowly southward, dragging one foot behind him in a limp. There would be no chance of anyone else running into him today._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooo. I could not seem to find a good stopping point for this chapter. I ended up writing until it was over 5k, which is twice as long as my chapters usually are, SO I decided to split this one up into two. This is the first part, and the second should be up sometime soon, since it's already half-written. 
> 
> I feel like I'm wading in dangerous waters here. There are a lot of directions I could go in, but not many would equal a happy ending. But I do want that, and I'm sure all of you do, too. So please comment, contact me @ excaliburcas.tumblr.com, or give me some form of feedback. It's pretty imperative that I know what you guys are thinking.


	11. It's Me, Kieren.

When Simon got back to the Walkers’ after spending an hour at the Legion, it was dark out. No one acknowledged his presence when he entered because everyone was crowded anxiously around the television in the living room. Steve was fiddling with the cable box impatiently, muttering curses under his breath. The screen was staticky, but it occasionally flickered into a clear picture for a moment. It was the most signal they’d been able to pick up since the Rising.

Jem rolled her eyes and brushed her dad out of the way. “Give me that.” 

She snatched the remote from his hand and began jabbing at the buttons in rapid succession. When nothing happened, she gave a swift kick to the television stand and flopped back onto the sofa. 

“Useless.” 

Kieren was biting his nails and staring at the television as if he could will it to come on with the power of his mind. Sue made a thoughtful noise and pressed one of the buttons on the actual television set. The static cleared in an instant, and suddenly they were all staring at the crystal clear image of a newscaster with a blue screen behind them.

They all blinked in bewilderment and listened as the man gestured to the clouds on the screen and talked casually about the weather as if the last few months had never occurred. 

“What the hell is _this_?” Jem asked, speaking for all of them. 

“Bollocks,” Kieren declared. “Months of silence, and this is all they have to say is that it’s going to be ‘partly cloudy on Wednesday’?” 

Steve rubbed his chin and remained quiet. Sue sat down on the sofa and patted Kieren’s arm soothingly. 

“Maybe they themselves don’t know what’s happened, sweetheart.”

“They’re the news channel! They’re _supposed_ to know what’s going on. If not them, then who?” 

“I have some news of my own,” Simon said. Everyone turned to look at him for the first time since he’d arrived. “Vicar Oddie heard from the parish in the next town. Apparently, the government is sending troops to come and collect the dead within the next few days. There’s been a no-kill order issued.” 

Jem made a disgusted sound. “So are we supposed to just sit here and let them kill us?”

“We got rid of the ones in town. The streets are safe for now,” Simon reminded her.

Simon saw the faint relief in Kieren’s eyes, but there was still immense tension in the sharp lines of his shoulders and jaw. No one said anything for a full minute. Then Sue wiped her hands on her pants as though they were dirty and shrugged. 

“Well, at least we seem to be moving forward. This could be a step in the right direction.” 

Jem scoffed and left the room, muttering colorful obscenities about the government under her breath. Steve shrugged at his wife like ‘ _what can you do?_ ’

“I’m going to get ready for bed,” Simon said awkwardly. He took his leave then, sensing he was out of place. He was a few centimeters away from the bathroom, revelling in the idea of a hot shower, when Kieren caught up with him in the hallway. 

“Are you sleeping downstairs tonight?” he asked casually.

Simon faltered for a moment. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. “I thought I was.” 

“I only ask because I slept really well the rest of last night.” Kieren’s mouth curled in a smile so imperceptible that Simon had to blink several times to convince himself it was real. “With you there,” Kieren tacked on eventually, mistaking Simon’s silence for slowness.

“Oh.” Simon swallowed. “Really? Yeah, that sounds-- okay. Good.” 

“Yeah?” Kieren’s expression was entirely unreadable. Simon felt obtuse. Sometimes he was still surprised by how forward Kieren could be when he wanted something. “Good. Now go shower.”

Kieren turned promptly and walked into his bedroom. What the hell was Simon supposed to do with _that_? If this morning was any indication, Simon should not be anywhere near Kieren while he was unconscious. Yet he’d agreed without giving it a second thought. Simon shook his head and berated himself, sending out a silent promise to an absent God: this would be the last time. 

-

It wasn’t the last time. Simon found himself waking up next to Kieren more often than not over the next few days. Kieren told him it was keeping his night terrors at bay, and what kind of person would Simon be if he denied Kieren a good night’s sleep? Most days Simon woke up first, unaroused, which was a blessing on its own. But being able to look down and see Kieren, drowsy and loose-limbed in the morning light was a wholly different kind of blessing. Half asleep, Kieren was golden and quietly beautiful, with eyelashes so long and sable that they looked like they were painted on in broad strokes. The bridge of his elegant nose was dusted just finely with freckles, and Simon sometimes felt his eyes tracing them subconsciously, trying to pick out constellations. The boy was a goddamn marvel. Simon felt almost sacrilegious to even be touching him.

But, like all good things, those peaceful mornings were soon spoiled. The government troops came that Saturday. They flooded into Roarton in units. Their faces were dirty with blood and dirt, uniforms were torn in several places. This was one of the last stops on their tour through Lancashire. The rest of England had already been taken care of, if the rumors had any truth to them. 

It was depressing to sit all day and watch the troops march up and down the streets all looking for any sign of the living dead, shouting orders at the townspeople to stay out of their way, so Simon began asking Kieren out on excursions. They mostly went to places that were empty of Roarton residents and government troops alike; they both preferred seclusion. 

The first time, Simon and Kieren walked out to the bridge at the edge of town. Kieren brought his old sketchbook with him and a couple of sticks of graphite, and spent two hours sketching the barren landscape by the old cave. He reluctantly showed Simon afterwards, with the disclaimer, “I usually only draw portraits, so don’t expect anything special.” But Simon thought it was more than special. Like most things about Kieren, it was fantastic. 

“I haven’t drawn anyone since before I tried to kill myself,” Kieren said thoughtfully, sweeping a few errant blond strands behind his ears. He rubbed his hands together in the brisk air, cold for early spring, and flipped to a blank page in the sketchbook. Simon unwound the scarf from around his neck and draped it over Kieren. He gave him a small, grateful smile in thanks, and it made Simon feel warm despite his bare neck. 

“Yeah? Are you thinking of picking it up again?”

Kieren shrugged. “My main subject is dead.” 

“Why don’t you draw Jem or your mum and dad?” 

“Dunno. Just doesn’t feel right.” 

Simon nodded solemnly and they sat there for a long minute, listening to the sparse sounds of nature in the early afternoon. It was getting chillier by the second.

“You know, you kind of have that brooding thing going on...” Kieren said thoughtfully, squinting at him. 

“What?”

“You’d make a good model,” Kieren decided. “For a portrait, I mean.” 

Simon scoffed and ran a hand through a swath of his greasy hair. “I’m serious,” Kieren said earnestly. “You always look like you have something you’re not saying. Kind of mysterious-like. If I could capture that, it’d make for a good sketch.”

Simon flushed. Of course he looked like he keeping things from Kieren - he was, wasn’t he? “I don’t think... that’s probably not a good idea.”

Kieren’s lips quirked mischievously. He picked up the sharpest piece of graphite and poised it above a blank sketchbook page. “Why not?”

Naturally, Simon gave in. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to come up with an excuse, but really he didn’t mind the idea of Kieren looking at him, tracing his features the same way Simon found himself doing on occasion. Kieren finished the portrait much faster than he had the landscape; the lines seemed to come more easily to him. Simon couldn’t see the drawing, but Kieren was barely even looking down at the paper himself. His hand swept in broad, sure strokes, and in about thirty minutes he put the graphite down and surveying the page. There was something almost soft in Kieren’s eyes as he looked at his work. 

“Done?” Simon asked unnecessarily. 

Kieren nodded, meeting his gaze fleetingly. “Can I see it, then?” 

“I’m not sure how you’ll feel about it.” Kieren handed the sketchbook over to him regardless, turning away self-consciously after. 

Simon lost his breath the moment he saw it. The sketch was unlike any other piece he’d seen of Kieren’s. It wasn’t colorful and lively like the paintings back at the house, but even so it possessed a sort of vitality. The lines weren’t neat, the cross-hatching imprecise, but the details of Simon’s face were captured vividly nonetheless. It had personality - it had the very thing secret thing that Kieren had mentioned before: that hidden part of Simon that made him look ‘mysterious’. He could see why Kieren was worried about how he might feel about it. There was something private and raw about the sketch. He wouldn’t feel comfortable if it were put on display. 

“It’s beautiful,” Simon said eventually. He set the sketchbook on Kieren’s knees, but Kieren still wouldn’t look at him. “I mean it. It’s the best portrait I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re just saying that,” Kieren said stubbornly. Then he glanced coyly at Simon and asked,“What about the _Mona Lisa_?”

Simon let out a very undignified burst of laughter. “You could give da Vinci a run for his money.”

Kieren smacked him in the arm and finally looked at him straight-on. “You mean it?”

“It’s lovely,” Simon reiterated seriously. “You have so much talent.”

“If you say so,” Kieren said modestly. Simon heard the ‘thank you’ in his voice clear as day.

-

Life slowly began to change. Roarton was slowly getting back on its feet, and the troops were filtering out in droves, day by day. They left behind protocol that all Roarton residents were to follow from now on. They were as follows: 1. In the event of an attack, one was to safely capture the dead and desist from harming them. 2. The dead must be brought to the nearest clinic, where there was to be a holding cell set up. 3. One was to immediately call the nearest center specializing in treatment of the dead, and wait at least a week before a specialist arrived. 4. If the above steps were executed correctly, the finder would be awarded a generous sum of money. 

Though this seemed reasonable to Simon, if a bit odd and inexplicable, many of the people he patrolled with were dissatisfied. 

“Can you believe this? They’ve reduced us to nothing but bounty hunters!” someone groused. It was a young, arrogant man that Simon hadn’t cared to introduce himself to. He had joined the patrol group much later on, after the streets were cleared and all of the hard work had been done. 

The others at the bar murmured their agreement, but Simon saw Pearl Pinder roll her eyes as she wiped out the wet insides of a pint glass. “I think it’ll be good for this town,” Pearl muttered under her breath. Simon was the only one within earshot. “It’ll get those kids back at home where they belong, for one.” She gestured to the gaggle of teenagers sipping from their drinks just a few meters away; among them was Lisa. 

“We’ll carry on,” Bill roared over the rush of sound. Everyone quieted at once. “If they think we’ll give up that easy they don’t know Roarton at all.”

Pearl interrupted the ensuing shouts of agreement by slamming the tines of a fork into a glass. “Not in here, you won’t,” she said. “This is a place of public gathering, and I can’t have those in direct defiance of the government holding meetings here every night.” 

“But--” Dean was interrupted by a sharp look from Pearl. 

“I can offer you drinks on this house, but that’s about it,” she amended. 

Bill looked disgruntled, but not the slightest bit defeated. “Very well. We’ll take our patronage somewhere else, won’t we, ladies and gents?”

“Where?” Simon voiced what everyone else was wondering.

“Vicar Oddie will have us,” Bill said confidently. “The parish is lacking in spirit these days anyway, in’t? It’s time we inspire the folks of Roarton. Get them to see the truth.” 

Simon wondered what that truth was.

-

Kieren enjoyed going out with Simon, he really did, but he was starting to think it might be good for him to start going out by himself occasionally. His parents disliked the idea of him being on his own after everything that had happened, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. He was an adult, after all. 

It was a Tuesday about two weeks after the government troops had started coming when Kieren went out alone for the first time in months. He took it slowly, deciding to start with places he knew, like the vintage clothing shop on the main road or the Save ‘n’ Shop that his mum frequented. 

The clothing shop had its glass windows thoroughly smashed in. As he walked by, Kieren waved to the shop owner, a woman named Tilly who was standing on a ladder to re-hang the store sign. Kieren didn’t want to cause more trouble for her by going inside, so he continued on down the road. 

The Save ‘n’ Shop was in even worse shape. It looked okay from the outside, if a little dusty, but the inside was an entirely different story. The aisles were strewn with debris and whatever leftover that items hadn’t been ransacked weeks ago. The shelves were almost completely bare, and there wasn’t a living soul in sight. Kieren wandered further into the store, scanning the floor for anything that might be of use. They were doing all right with supplies these days, and local businesses were getting back on their feet fast enough that it wasn’t much of a concern. Still, it’d be nice to find a packet of biscuits or something - those were a luxury these days. 

Lost in thought, Kieren stepped on something hard and round as he was walking through the dimly lit aisles. His momentum worked against him and he slipped gracelessly to the ground. Disoriented, he looked down and saw that he had fallen over a can of bean and lentil soup. Of course that was the only food item left. No one liked lentils.

Kieren attempted to lift himself up but winced when he felt a sharp pain tingle through his ankle. Fuck, it was sprained. That was not good news. He tried to stay calm. After all, it wasn’t such a big deal. He was alone, sure, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t walk at all. He’d just leave now and take it slowly. 

Kieren grabbed onto the shelf for support and hoisted himself into a standing position, testing his weight against the sprained ankle. It smarted a little, but it was nothing a day or two of rest wouldn’t cure. He took a half-step forward and then stopped dead at his tracks, listening. He hadn’t been imaging that, had he? 

Kieren strained his ears and heard it again: a low, guttural sound, like something an animal stuck in a bear trap might make. His gut seized. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on his skin. He was alone, with a twisted ankle, in close quarters with a possible zombie. Everything that could possibly go wrong had gone wrong.

 _This is how every single movie protagonist dies_ , Kieren thought, somewhat shell-shocked. He’d never thought himself stupid enough to get into a situation like this. He patted down his pockets as though he might suddenly come across a machete that he’d stashed in his jacket pocket. No such luck. 

Kieren turned just in time to see a pair of filthy brown loafers round the corner. They were trimmed in lace and had a big bow sewn by hand on the top. They had once been pretty. Something about them was inexplicably familiar, but Kieren didn’t have to think long about why. 

The shoes belonged to a girl wearing floral-patterned blue dress with a chunky white belt and a thick knitted peach cardigan overtop. This was the last outfit Kieren had seen Amy wearing. These were the clothes she’d been buried in. But the face - it was almost unrecognizable. Her skin was the color of bone, chin covered in a syrupy-like black substance that looked a little bit like congealed blood. Her hands were curved into delicate claws, and she reaching for him as she shuffled forward.

He had the absurd impulse to take her hand. “Amy?” Kieren’s voice came out warbly. 

When she got close enough, Kieren could make out the whites of her irises, and how there was virtually no distinction between them and her corneas. He felt sick, and his stomach lurched dangerously as though to confirm it. She wrapped a hand around his shoulder and squeezed hard, fingernails creating little wells of blood where they sliced into his skin. She was trying to pull him closer so that she could bite him, Kieren realised dully. He didn’t make a move to stop her.

For a moment he had the crazy, wild notion that this was merely a game of survival of the fittest. She was just another creature trying to make it on this earth, and he was her prey, not by design, but by circumstance. What made him more deserving of life than her? When Kieren had known her, even for such a brief amount of time, she was the brightest thing he’d ever seen. She touched the lives of those around her like he never could. She deserved to live. She wanted to live more than anyone he had ever met. 

Amy bared her teeth and moved her mouth towards his neck, all the while scrabbling at his neck. She was a centimeter away from digging her teeth in when Kieren heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking from behind him. He sprung into motion then, shoving Amy away from him as hard as he could and stumbling a few steps back. 

Kieren turned around in the process, stepping in front of Amy to block the shot, and had just enough time to scream, “ _No_!” before the woman in front of him pulled the trigger. She lowered the gun reluctantly, and Kieren could tell immediately that he’d misjudged her. She was more girl than woman. In fact, she didn’t look much older than fifteen. 

“Get out of the way!” Her brow was furrowed in annoyance, and she looked like she had some place better to be. “You’re blocking my shot. Now move.”

“No,” Kieren repeated. He squared his shoulders and took a quick peek behind him. Amy had fallen to her knees, momentarily stunned, when he shoved her. “I know her.” 

“Look, we all lost someone during the Rising,” the girl said placidly, as though she was reading from a script. “But that isn’t the girl you knew. That isn’t even a person.”

“It is,” Kieren insisted. “She’s my friend. Just let me--” Kieren sidestepped the swipe that Amy aimed for his ankle. He shrugged his jacket off his shoulder and got behind her, grabbing her arms and twisting them together as gently as possible. He looped the sleeves of his jacket around her wrists and wound them around her arms, tying it all off in a triple-knot. That would keep her still for a while, at least. “Just let me call someone. That number that the government gave to us. They could come and take her off your hands. You don’t have to kill her.” 

“She’s already dead, mate. It’s easier this way. Let her go.” There seemed to be the barest hint of sympathy in her voice now, but there was still a hardness in her eyes. She was unyielding and strong, but Kieren was prepared to fight her if it came to that.

He took out his cell phone and pressed 4 on speed dial. He endured three tinny rings before the line went silent for a moment. “Kieren?”

“Simon,” Kieren breathed, relieved. “I need you to give me the number of that government facility that said they would pick up the dead. It’s urgent.”

“Okay. I’m looking for it now. What’s going on?” Kieren could hear the sounds of Simon shuffling stuff around in the background. He sounded worried. 

“I found my friend Amy at the Save ‘n’ Shop. There’s a girl here with a gun who’s trying to kill her. I need to get help.”

“That’s probably Lisa,” Simon said. “Tell her Simon said not to do anything stupid.”

“I heard that,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes. 

“Can you--” Kieren started.

“Already on my way,” Simon interrupted. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He rattled off the phone number that Kieren had asked for and hung up.

Lisa cocked her hip and tapped the barrel of the gun against her thigh. Kieren winced, hoping the safety was on. “You know Simon?” she asked.

“He lives with me,” Kieren responded. Lisa tipped her head back, considering. Then she holstered the gun and took a few steps closer to Kieren, observing the thrashing figure of Amy on the floor, who was starting to chafe against her constraints. 

“I’ll hold off until he gets here,” she said. “Not because I think you’re right, but because I respect Simon.”

Kieren was grateful anyway. “Thank you.” He picked up his phone and dialed the number.

“Norfolk Treatment Center for Partially Deceased Syndrome Sufferers, how may I help you?”

“Sorry?” Kieren said. The woman began to repeat her greeting again. “No, I mean, I’m not sure this is the right number.” 

“Do you have a complaint to make about a Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferer in your area?”

“Partially _what_?”

“Deceased,” the woman said, slightly less patient. “It’s a politer way of saying ‘dead’. The opposite of alive.”

“Yes, yes, I know, I-- well, yes. I suppose I do. I found a... a partially deceased person I know at the Save ‘n’ Shop down in Roarton. I was told that someone could come and safely pick her up. She needs help.”

“They all do, love,” the lady said, voice softer now. “If you give me your exact address, I’ll send someone as soon as possible. For now, bring her to the local clinic. The staff should have been briefed about procedure.”

“Okay,” Kieren agreed. He gave her the address of the clinic and left his personal number so that she could tell him when it had been taken care of. “Thanks for your help.” 

The moment he hung up, the door to the Save ‘n’ Shop swung open so hard that both Lisa and Kieren jumped. Kieren glanced at his watch. “Jesus, Simon. You said you’d be here in ten. It’s hardly been five minutes.”

Simon smiled sheepishly. “I begged the car off your mum. She was happy to lend it to me if it meant getting you out of trouble.”

“I’m not in trouble,” Kieren grumbled. He gestured to bound woman on the floor, who shook wildly still, like a flea-ridden dog. “Can you help me get her into the car?” 

Simon cast a wary glance at Amy and then shared a look with Lisa that made Kieren’s skin prickle. “What?” he demanded.

“You could have gotten hurt,” Simon said eventually, shuffling over to him. He examined Amy from a short distance and scoffed when he saw what was keeping her in place. “Your jacket, Kieren? Really? You were reckless.”

“I don’t need you telling me what I am,” Kieren said defensively. “Or how to act, for that matter. I’m not a child.” 

“You sound like Jem,” Simon said. Kieren’s face shifted to cool indifference, and Simon immediately regretted ever speaking.

“Can we just get out of here?” Lisa said, cutting in between them with her hands raised placatingly. “The sooner you drop her off, the better. I’m not technically even on duty right now.”

“You can leave whenever you like,” Simon told her. Lisa scowled at him and made for the door. “Sorry, I meant-- nevermind. Would you like a ride home?”

“No thanks,” Lisa said firmly. And then she was gone. 

Simon exhaled a defeated breath and bent down to pick up a discarded plastic bag from the floor. He held it over Amy’s head and gestured at Kieren. “I’m going to tie this around her neck until we get there to make sure she doesn’t bite either of us.” Kieren acknowledged the unspoken ‘is that okay with you?’ by nodding his assent. He didn’t like it, but it wasn’t like Amy needed to breathe anyway, right? 

Kieren secured her shoulders and neck in a loose chokehold to hold her still and Simon leaned forward to quickly slip the bag over her head. Amy was even more disoriented than before; Kieren could hear her teeth clicking as she snapped at the empty space between her face and the bag confusedly. Simon grabbed Amy’s legs next, and Kieren got a hold of her upper body by hooking his arms under her armpits and lifting.

Kieren took care to be as gentle as he possibly could, and he saw that Simon was following his lead. Together, they deposited her safely in the back seat. Kieren remembered the mottled skin of her torso just before the Leukemia had taken her; he didn’t want to add a new collection of bruises to her skin.

It was an eight minute ride to the clinic. They both spent it in utter silence. The tension of their small argument stayed their tongues, but there was also something keeping them quiet that ran deeper than that. Kieren felt it in his bones - a peculiar, stinging tug below his rib cage that he had managed to keep quiet for a while now. Seeing Amy had dug up all sorts of thoughts and feelings in Kieren, and he wasn’t quite sure how to process them all, let alone repress them. 

The clinic was cold and sterile inside, a stark contrast to the rest of the world these days. The woman at the front desk raised an eyebrow almost to the ceiling when she realised that the heavy load Simon and Kieren were hauling inside was a person. 

“Doctor!” she shrieked. The doctor rushed out to survey the situation. He appeared remarkably calm in contrast. 

“Get the keys for the cage, Kaitlin. This is that ‘PDS’ condition we were briefed about last week.” 

Kaitlin hurried towards the front desk and unhooked the keys from their nail. She handed them to the doctor and quickly resumed her post at the desk. 

“Where are you going to keep her?” Kieren asked. 

“In the back room. We’re keeping the cage there for now, until we’re granted the money to install one out in the lobby,” the doctor replied.

“Cage?” The doctor nodded and gestured for Simon and Kieren to follow him. They did so, and it wasn’t long before the doctor was opening the door to what amounted to little more than a storage closet. Inside, there was a single bare bulb fixed to the ceiling and a mop and bucket in the corner. In the center of the tiny room was a metal cage that took up almost all of the space. Still, it was barely large enough to fit one fully grown human. 

“ _That’s_ what you call helping?” Kieren scoffed. Simon side-eyed him warily. 

“It’s about all we can manage while staying within our means,” the doctor said casually. “You can take the bag off now.”

Kieren tugged it off in one quick motion and Amy stared right at him for a long, unnerving moment. She didn’t blink. Her eyes were as blank as the clinic around them.

“What was her name?” the doctor asked. 

“Her name _is_ Amy Dyer,” Kieren said. The doctor lifted his head from where he scribbling a few notes on his clipboard. 

“Dyer? I treated a Ms. Dyer quite a few years ago who always talked about her sweet granddaughter Amy.” The doctor took a long look at the sorry state Amy was in. “Shame.” 

Kieren grit his teeth and felt his whole body prickle with righteousness. Simon curled a firm arm around his bicep and leaned close to speak into his ear. “It’s not worth it, Kieren. She won’t be here for long.” 

“Well, thank you for your help, boys. There should be someone here to take her to a treatment center within the next few days. I expect you’ll get a call when she’s been picked up.” 

Simon nodded graciously, in a manner Kieren was currently incapable of performing. “Thank you.” 

Simon put a hand on Kieren’s lower back to steer him out when the doctor called behind them, “Oh, I almost forgot! You can pick up your reward at the front desk.”

-

Simon managed to get Kieren back to the car without blowing a fuse, but just barely. Kieren stewed silently in his anger for a moment before erupting. “She deserves better than this!” 

“I know--”

“No, you don’t know, Simon. She’s not an animal, but you’ve been hunting people like her for months now as though they’re nothing more than game. What if she’s just trapped? What if the treatment center can really cure her and she remembers everything? What does that mean about all of the others who have been killed in vain?”

Simon squeezed his eyes shut and took a long, long time to respond. “I did what I had to do to protect Roarton. None of us could have predicted this course of events. If I had known that-- you have to understand how I feel. I wouldn’t have killed senselessly.”

Kieren wouldn’t look at him. His hands trembled finely on the dashboard, and Simon covered them both with one of his own. “Look at me.” Kieren met his eyes fiercely; they were burning like hot coals. “You know me. I would never have joined the patrol group if I had known it would turn out this way.”

“I know,” Kieren admitted quietly, but his eyes still smoldered. “But I warned you.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t think it through, but I don’t regret trying to provide for your family. I won’t apologize for that.” 

“I don’t expect you to.” 

“Kieren, I...” Simon broke off mid-sentence as Kieren surged forward suddenly. One second they were half a meter apart, and the next Simon could taste Kieren’s warm breath on his mouth, feel the bruising force with which Kieren’s lips were pressed to his own. It took him a while to register anything beyond that basic sensation. Eventually he noticed that Kieren’s hands were cupped around his jaw, and Simon had his own hand on the back of his neck. He rubbed his thumb there briefly to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and Kieren shivered against him, pressing in closer. Definitely real. 

Kieren pulled away enough to mutter, “Shut up,” and then resumed kissing him like it was his God-given mission. They stayed twisted towards each other for a full two minutes before Simon’s back began to cramp at the awkward position, and Kieren shifted uncomfortably at having the gear digging into his stomach. When they broke apart a second time, it was mutual. 

Simon righted himself in the driver’s seat in a complete daze. He distantly wondered if he could make the short drive home without veering into a pole. His lips tingled as they swelled with blood, swollen from being nipped at in Kieren’s haste. It felt like his first time covertly snogging with the neighbor boy under the covers again, except much better. 

“Let’s go home,” Kieren managed to say in a tone approaching dignified. Simon smiled simply because there was no other expression he could make right now, and they did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit. I somehow managed to pull another 5,410 words outta nowhere. I can legitimately testify that this is the most prolific I have ever been in my entire life. Well, in terms of writing fanfic. Who needs to fill out college applications or do homework, am I right? ... hahahaa.... ha.
> 
> I'm posting this at kind of an awkward time (11:23 pm on a Monday) so I guess I don't expect much, but it'd be great hear back from you (the readers). I love reading your comments, even if it's just as simple as, "I like this!" or "Keep going!" Every word counts & is immensely appreciated.


	12. Judas Kiss

Sue was stirring a pot of chilli on the stove when Kieren first felt the urge to confess. She was humming as she moved the ladle in big sweeps across the boiling pot, occasionally stopping to taste a bit add a pinch more of salt. The house was empty but for the two of them. Steve had gone back to his first day at work in months. Jem was spending time at the Legion with Lisa, who she’d recently befriended, and Simon was at church with the patrol group. 

Sue tucked a piece of mousy hair behind her ears and made a pleased sound when the rich smell of the chilli wafted up towards her nose. “Do you mind tasting this for me, love?” she called in Kieren’s direction. 

Kieren got up from the sofa from where he was fiddling idly with a torn up paperback of _Great Expectations_ which Simon had bought on a whim a few weeks ago when he had gone to the local second hand bookshop. 

Kieren took the ladle from his mom and sipped carefully at the steaming liquid. The chili was fragrant and cloying on his tongue, with a taste that was at once both sweet and hot with spices. “It’s good, mum.” 

“Almost done, then.” She looked satisfied at having accomplished something, however small it was. Lately, Kieren had gotten the sense that she was feeling a bit useless with Steve going back to work and Jem leaving more and more often. 

Kieren felt a pang in his chest - the same feeling that had welled up in his throat just moments before. Words that burned like hot coals took root deep in his gut, and he ached with how much he wanted to assuage their sweltering heat. What had his mum told him months ago? She’d said something like, “I’m always here if you need to talk”. Kieren hadn’t really taken it to heart at the time, but now he was seriously considering it. 

Kieren hadn’t had a serious conversation with Simon in a week. After Simon drove them home from the clinic, he had suddenly become cagey and quiet. That night he slept on the sofa for the first time in a long while without offering an explanation. Kieren had taken it in stride, thinking at the time that maybe Simon needed time to process this new development in their relationship, but now Kieren was beyond giving Simon the benefit of the doubt. Kieren began to think that he had done something wrong, something to dissuade Simon from pursuing anything with him. Kieren understood - he was broken in a lot of ways - but he would prefer it if Simon outright told him instead of avoiding the subject altogether. 

“Mum,” Kieren said in a sudden burst of courage. Sue’s back was turned to him, but her humming immediately stopped. 

“What is it, Kier?” 

“Did you... were you ever with anyone at my age?”

“You mean was I dating anyone before your dad?” Sue sounded amused, but there was just a touch of melancholy in her tone. She hid it well. “Yes. And I loved him very much, but it didn’t work out.” 

“Why?” 

Sue sighed and set down the dripping ladle on a rag next to the pot. “Sometimes these things just don’t.” She rinsed her hands off and patted them dry on her trousers and then turned to face him. “Besides, it was for the better. Now I’ve got you and Jem.” 

Kieren mustered a weak smile. “That’s not really an answer.” 

Sue smiled wryly. “You’re right. Why do you want to know? Did something happen?”

“No, I--” Kieren cut himself off as soon as he saw the look in Sue’s eyes. There was something so terrifyingly shrewd in her graze that it shut him right up.

“Is this about Simon?” she asked gently.

Kieren felt the hot coals in his gut turn cold. His first instinct was denial, but it was very clear that she wasn’t going to be fooled so easily. “Is it that obvious?” 

“Oh, love.” Sue shuffled over to him and took Kieren in her arms for a moment, holding him in the way she used to when he was still a boy. “Call it mum’s intuition. Your dad hasn’t suspected a thing.”

“I think Jem knows, too,” Kieren said. And then, more quietly, “I don’t know what to do.”

“What happened?” Sue asked, rubbing his arm gently. Kieren put some space between them so he could take a moment to breath and collect himself. 

“You’re not surprised?” Kieren deflected, unable to help himself. 

“I was startled, at first,” Sue admitted. “But I see that Simon cares about you deeply, and that’s more significant to me than the fact that you like men.” 

“Not just men,” Kieren countered. “It’s not about... it has nothing to do with gender for me, mum. I just like who I like. It’s called pansexual.”

Sue’s eyebrows lifted fractionally. “I haven’t heard of that one.” Then her features quickly relaxed into a smile. “But it suits you. I’m happy if you’re happy, Kieren. If this is how you feel, then it’s all just as well.” 

“Thank you,” Kieren said hoarsely. Muscles that he hadn’t even known had been tensed relaxed immediately. He took a deep breath and felt lighter than he had in close to a year.

“No, thank you for confiding in me.” Sue cleared her throat. “And just for the record, your father wouldn’t mind at all. He’s much more open-minded than you think, just a little slow on the uptake sometimes.” Sue winked at him and Kieren flushed pink up to the tips of his ears.

“Please don’t tell him yet,” Kieren said earnestly. “I’m not ready for him to know.”

“Of course not. Whenever you feel comfortable.” Sue made a move to turn back to the stove but Kieren stopped her with a hand on her arm, pulling her into a brief but warm embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder and inhaled in to catch her scent, which carried natural hints of gardenia and fresh cotton, as well as cumin from the chili. It was comforting like nothing else could be in that moment. 

“Do you want to talk about Simon?” Sue asked him as they broke apart. 

“Not yet,” Kieren said uncertainly. He wiped his palms nervously on his trousers. He couldn’t think of a reason to withhold anything from her at this point. “Well, maybe.” 

Sue turned the heat on the stove down to its lowest setting, bringing the chili to a simmer. Then she took a seat on a kitchen stool and folded her hands loosely in her lap. “I’m listening.”

“Er... I might’ve done something stupid.” Sue looked on at him impassively, face clear of judgement. Still, Kieren felt himself get even hotter under the collar. This was an awkward conversation to have with a parent no matter how he spun it. “I kissed him last Friday,” Kieren mumbled eventually. 

“And he didn’t react well?” Sue guessed.

If Kieren had been pink before, now he was vermilion. “No, he did at first. But then, I don’t know; it was like a switch inside him flipped. He hasn’t really talked to me since. He won’t even look at me properly.” 

“Oh, but he has been,” Sue said. And then, at Kieren’s uncomprehending gaze, she added, “He looks at you all of the time, Kieren. In fact, if you’re in the room, it’s hard to get his attention at all.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Whatever he feels for you, he’s certainly not confused about it. He’s just... I think think he’s trying to be careful about you.” 

“What do you mean?” Kieren asked, feeling like he’d already gotten whiplash twice in a matter of seconds. 

“You’re younger than him, for one,” Sue said. Her tone was difficult to read, but Kieren thought he detected a hint of apprehension in it. “That might explain some of his reluctance. I can tell that he thinks the world of you. I’m sure he doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? We’ve both been through enough on our own. I can handle him.” Sue meant well, but Kieren wasn't sure that she was right about this. 

“You’re strong,” Sue agreed. “And as much as it’s strange for me to admit, you’re an adult now, too. You should talk to Simon and work things out before either of you think yourselves into a rut.” 

The door opened before Kieren could respond, and Kieren immediately tensed. He relaxed marginally when Steve shuffled into the kitchen and set down his briefcase by the wall. He kissed Sue quickly on the cheek and sniffed curiously at the pot on the stove. “Is that chili I smell?” 

Sue nodded and resumed her stirring. “What’s the occasion?” Steve asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” Sue said. “I was just tired of sitting around all day, so I went digging and found my mother’s old recipe book. Thought I’d make something a little unusual for a change.”

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Steve said, rubbing his hands together. Kieren rolled his eyes. His dad never had a bad word to say about Sue’s cooking, but in truth, he couldn’t handle anything spicy and everyone knew it. Even cinnamon tea was too strong for him sometimes. 

His dad went chattering on about various inanities and Kieren took that as his cue to leave. He took a handful of plates and utensils out of the cabinet and carried them out into the dining room. Sue raised her eyebrows; usually either of her children had to be asked to do such a thing, but here Kieren was, setting the table like it came as naturally as breathing. She smiled at Steve’s matching expression of surprise and asked about his day to distract him. She suspected this was Kieren’s way of expressing his gratitude for their conversation. 

Kieren found himself in an unusually good mood as he went about his task, setting each plate down carefully and folding napkins underneath spoons and forks in the proper way his mum had once taught him but that he’d never bothered with before. Five place settings - one for each member of the family and Simon, too, because Kieren had heard him say he was going to be back in time for dinner tonight. 

As he worked, he listening to the indistinct sounds of his parents conversing in the other room. Steve spoke in a subdued voice as usual, but there was an undercurrent of cheerfulness in it that Kieren hadn’t heard from him in longer than he could remember. Kieren suspected he was glad to be out and about again. Sue answered Steve in softer tones; her voice had a distinct steadiness to it. However unproductive and idle she felt now, Kieren knew she’d feel better soon.

When the table was set, Kieren traversed the length of the dining room to get to the staircase. He could use a few minutes of alone time to work some things out in his head. But just before his foot touched the bottom step, he heard his dad say the word ‘Simon.’ Kieren froze and leaned towards the sound, straining to hear what was being said. 

His mum replied in a whisper that Kieren couldn’t decipher, and Steve, ever-oblivious, spoke twice as loudly. “Just today, in fact. He asked me on my way out.” 

“What did you tell him?” Sue asked, evidently having given up on being discreet. 

“I said I’d be happy to help. Geoff Winfrey from accounting recently had a neighbor move out of town. I told him I’d ask around at work tomorrow.” 

Kieren felt his throat tighten up like it always did right before something bad happened.  
“Steve,” Sue started. She sighed. “Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, Ki-- we _all_ like having Simon around. What’s the harm in him staying here a few more months?”

“Wasn’t my idea,” Steve said obliviously. “I’m just as happy to have ‘im here as you are, but it’s up to him. Now that things are getting back to normal, he told me he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome. He even offered to move out tonight and stay at the B&B until he finds a more permanent residence.” 

Kieren felt sick. He rushed up the stairs before he could hear anything else and hurried to shut himself inside his room. It was dark and cool in there, and best of all, quiet. His heart was beating hard enough against his ribcage that it hurt. He laid down on top of the mess of covers and burrowed his face into his pillows, trying very hard to expel the various sense memories of Simon lying here with him in this very spot. 

Had Kieren really made Simon so uncomfortable that he felt the only option was to move away from him? It hadn’t seemed like that just a few weeks ago. Kieren wasn’t stupid, and he liked to think he wasn’t as oblivious like his dad sometimes was. Kieren knew what he was seeing when Simon looked at him just a beat too long or deliberately curled into his warmth when they slept in the same bed. Or at least he thought he had. It hurt to think he had been so sure of something that wasn’t even there. And besides that, it was embarrassing. Now that he thought about it, why _would_ Simon feel that way about him after all? He was just a kid. 

It had been this way with Rick, too, at first. Kieren knew him well enough to recognize the signs, but he knew Rick would never initiate anything. Kieren endured about a year of mutual pining before he couldn’t take it anymore and acted on his feelings. Though he had been right, Rick was apprehensive and stand-offish at first. It was clear that he had boundaries, and Kieren did everything in his power to respect them, but he was still a teenage boy with hormones who could hardly work out his own feelings. 

It was different now. Kieren knew what he wanted. He wasn’t the same fifteen year old who had blushed at the thought of telling Rick what he wanted to do with him. But he knew Simon well enough to know that even if he didn’t feel anything romantic towards him, he was too kind to say anything about it. Kieren would have to ask Simon outright if he wanted a straight answer. Still, the thought made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. However grown up he was, this kind of thing was embarrassing.

And as strong as he liked to act, Kieren still felt like he wouldn’t quite know how to handle a rejection from someone he really, really... cared about. He decided at once that if he was going to confront Simon, he had to do it immediately, otherwise he’d surely lose his nerve.

As fate would have it, Simon took his sweet time coming home that night. He was almost twenty minutes late to dinner - which had never happened before unless he’d warned them all in advance. By the time he walked into the dining room, Jem was already finished with dinner and had gone to her room, and Sue, Steve, and Kieren were all halfway through their meals. 

Simon immediately began apologizing, explaining how he’d gotten stuck cleaning up after Bill’s impromptu whiskey celebration (what they were celebrating, Simon couldn’t imagine), but Sue waved him off. “No, don’t be silly. It’s fine.” She gestured towards the empty chair next to Kieren. “Sit down. Let me know if your food’s gone cold.” 

Simon took a spoonful graciously and shook his head. In truth, it was tepid at this point, but that suited Simon just fine. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Sue.” 

She smiled and nodded at him, and Simon ate the rest of his food with his head ducked so that his nose almost touched the rim of his bowl and he couldn’t see anything but the patterned tablecloth in front of him. Kieren stared at him pointedly for a good three minutes before Steve started to give him weird looks. His mum just sat there with her hands folded nervously, looking a touch too sympathetic. It made that sick feeling Kieren had from before come back tenfold.

Kieren scarfed down the rest of his chili and pushed himself away from the table. He announced that he wasn’t feeling well and made his exit swiftly, before Simon even had the chance to chew and swallow the food in his mouth. 

Now it was just a waiting game.

-

Simon’s ascent upstairs took longer than it should have. After he finished his meal, his helped Sue clean the table to make up for being late, and then he offered to do the dishes, as well. When Sue reminded him that the dishwasher worked just fine, Simon shrugged and said, “Chili is tough to get off of plates. And that pot is definitely not going to come clean in the dishwasher. It needs a good scrubbing or it’ll stain.” 

Sue gave him a look like she saw right through him, but she threw her hands up helplessly regardless. “Suit yourself,” she said. “But don’t take too long. I want to tidy up the kitchen afterwards.” 

Simon nodded and grabbed the nearest sponge. He scrubbed at the pot probably longer than was warranted, but it soothing to work with his hands. It took his mind off of the shamed feeling he’d had in Sue’s presence. She acted like she knew something. Simon wondered briefly if... no. It was best not to speculate. 

Eventually, Simon dropped the sponge and rinsed the suds off of his hands and forearms and stood idly at the sink for a few moments. It was impossible not to acknowledge that fact that he was stalling at this point. He had no good reason to stay downstairs anymore, and Kieren had been in his room for almost an hour now. It was probably safe to go up there for a shower without running into him. 

With that futile hope, Simon climbed up the stairs at tortoise-like speed, making sure to be quiet. He got halfway to the bathroom when someone cleared their throat behind him.

“Need any help packing your bags tonight?” Kieren asked, tone deceptively placid. 

Simon halted his stride and turned to face Kieren rigidly. “Your dad told you?”

“I overheard him,” Kieren said hastily. “Though I might’ve guessed it with the way you’ve been avoiding me like I have a contagious disease.”

Simon’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I’m not leaving tonight after all. It’s too short notice to find somewhere to stay overnight.”

“Right,” Kieren said, walking closer to him slowly, as though Simon might spook. “Because it’s not as though you already have a place to stay. It’s not like you’ve been sleeping here for months at no charge.” 

“That’s just it,” Simon said, rubbing over the back of his neck. “I’m not paying rent. I’m not contributing to anything anymore, now that your mum and dad can go out and bring back their own groceries without having to fear for their lives.”

“We both know that’s not the only reason you’ve suddenly decided to leave.” 

Simon looked at him blankly, refusing to let a single emotion color his expression. Kieren worked his jaw rhythmically, and Simon stared in abject fascination as the muscle tensed and untensed rapidly. “I’m not needed here anymore,” Simon reasserted finally. 

“Stop it.” Kieren’s eyes were stormy now. “Stop treating me like a child. Stop talking about yourself like you're worthless. You’ve been like this ever since...” He took a breath and looked dead-on at Simon. “Ever since I kissed you.”

“Kieren,” Simon said. He must have sounded like he had more to say, because Kieren waited for a full thirty seconds before he scoffed and turned his gaze to the side. Simon bit his cheek and couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. It hurt him to see Kieren so upset. It hurt him to hurt Kieren like this. But they would both be in a world of more hurt if Simon pretended like it was okay to be with him. Okay to kiss him and take him out on dates. Okay to be serious about how much he fucking cared for him. It wasn’t that easy. Simon had broken things before, and like _hell_ was he going to let Kieren be one of them. 

“Look,” Kieren said eventually, closing his eyes. “It’s clear that I overstepped my bounds. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if.. if I upset you. But I’m not-- I _can’t_ be sorry that I care about you, Simon. So don’t just up and leave without telling me anything. Don’t treat me like the last few months haven't happened.” 

“You don’t need to apologize,” Simon said seriously. The furthest thing he needed from Kieren was an apology. “I’m sorry for how I’ve been treating you. It’s not that you’ve upset me. It’s-- I’ve been upsetting myself more than anything. I just needed to take some time to think on my own.”

“And how has that worked out for you?” Kieren asked wryly. 

“Not exceedingly well,” Simon admitted. 

Kieren's eyes softened for a brief moment before his guard went back up. "Are you going to stay or not?"

Simon swallowed past the knot in his throat and shook his head. "I can’t. It's not because of you, or even us. I just think it's time I find a place of my own." 

"You have the money to rent?" 

Simon frowned in a way that answered Kieren's question. "I have enough for a month or two. After that, I'll have to find work. The patrol group really isn't paying."

That was no surprise. Kieren snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "There aren't exactly many job opportunities in Roarton at present."

"I know," Simon said. That very concern had been in the back of his mind ever since the government intervened. "I might go back home and live with my parents for a while."

“I thought you said...” Kieren trailed off, uncomfortable. Simon remembered their first few conversations, suddenly; how he’d opened up to Kieren more than he ever had to anyone. There was that one night in the forest, when Simon told him about his childhood and his parents, his struggle with addiction. Jesus, had he really bared his soul like that without even realising? There must have been something about Kieren that struck a chord in him, made him want to spill his guts.

“I called my mum the other day,” Simon said, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. “I told her I’ve been clean for months now. She said she misses me and that she’d talk it over with my father, but that it’d probably be okay if I came back to stay for a bit.” 

“That’s great, Simon,” Kieren said hoarsely. Despite the hollowness in his voice, he didn’t sound insincere. He just looked tired. 

“They only live a few hours away. I’ll visit.” Simon cleared his throat. “If you want.” 

“Yeah, I’ll... we’ll...” Kieren shook his head as if to clear it. “We’ll keep in touch.” 

“Okay.” Simon glanced behind him, at the open door of the bathroom. 

“Okay.” Kieren shuffled his feet. “See you tomorrow, then.” 

Simon nodded once and turned away so he didn’t have to watch Kieren as he retreated down the empty hallway. 

The bathroom was dark, and Simon didn’t bother flicking on the light switch. The soft, pale blue glow of the moon that filtered in from the small window above the bath was the only light in the room. Simon stood over the sink for a long time, looking into the dingy mirror door of the medicine cabinet. The only thing he could make out in the dark were the stark whites of his eyes.

-

The next day passed all at once. Kieren didn’t feel like there was a middle to it - just a beginning and an end. In the morning, Simon woke up early and Kieren watched from a safe distance as he stuffed stray articles of clothing into a backpack. Simon stashed his guitar in Kieren’s room a few weeks after he’d moved in, and he hadn’t touched it since. When Kieren asked him if he was going to take it, Simon shook his head no. He claimed he was out of practice. It seemed more like he wanted to leave a piece of himself there, but Kieren didn’t push the subject. 

Simon’s mum phoned him early in the afternoon, and they had a short, stilted conversation that Kieren only heard bits and pieces of. When he hung up, Simon had such a haggard look on his face that for a moment Kieren thought she might have told him to forget it, she never wanted to see him again. 

Then he smiled just slightly, almost bewildered, and said, “She said my dad’s looking forward to seeing me again.”

It was getting close to dusk when Simon finally stopped moving around the house restlessly, looking for belongings he might have forgotten to pack. He settled on the sofa and let himself relax. Kieren went to sit next to him because it could be his last opportunity to do so. They sat in near companionable silence for ten minutes.

“What are you thinking about?” Simon asked him eventually, voice barely audible. 

“A lot of things,” Kieren answered vaguely. Then, because if there was a time for equivocation, it wasn’t now, “Everything. These past few months. You.”

Simon’s eyes were closed. The ghost of a smile on his lips looked almost unconscious. Kieren shifted minutely closer to him, just enough that they could feel the warmth of each other’s presence. 

“I’ll probably miss you,” Kieren hedged, deciding that a little honestly would not go amiss. Especially since he likely wouldn’t be seeing Simon for a long time, if ever. 

“Probably?” Simon asked, half amused and half... worried? Troubled? Upset?

“Shut up.” Kieren sighed. “Almost definitely. Everyone will miss you, though. My mum’s become fond of you.”

“I’m fond of her, too - of all of you, really.” There was a note of hesitance in Simon’s voice, but he didn’t say anything else. “It’s going to be strange going back. I haven’t lived with my parents in years.”

“Did your mum say anything about what the conditions were like where she lives?” Kieren asked. 

“Not as many dead, so not as many risen,” Simon said. “They have a patrol group there, but it’s not very extensive.” 

“Yeah?” Kieren nudged Simon in the ribs with his elbow. “You better not run off and join that one too.” 

“I won’t,” Simon promised. “Though it does keep me busy. Busy is good. Without something to do, I get... scattered.”

Kieren knew what Simon meant; he could read between the lines. Simon was worried about relapsing. 

“You’re stronger than you think,” Kieren reminded him. To anyone else it might sound like a non-sequitur, but Simon knew immediately what he was saying. Simon ducked his head in a nod and cleared his throat. 

“Speaking of, I was planning to go out with the patrol group one last time to say goodbye. You’re welcome to come.” Simon said it casually, but the nervous flexing of his fingers tipped Kieren off. 

“I don’t...” Kieren began. Something like disappointment flashed in Simon’s eyes. Kieren stalled before he spoke again. “You know I don’t do well with that group.” 

“Yeah,” Simon agreed quietly. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to push you.” 

Simon’s eyes were hooded and closed-off now - flat, like Kieren had only seen them a handful of times. 

“You know what,” Kieren said. “Never mind. One night couldn’t hurt. I’ll go.” 

Simon’s mouth twitched. “If you’re sure.” 

-

The church was full to capacity. There were people lining every wall, conversing in small groups that contributed to the overall low level hum in the atmosphere. Kieren hadn’t thought it was going to be like this. If he expected anything at all, it was for there to a group of rowdy drunks talking about how they liked to use _rotters_ for target practice and lauding their cause as a noble one. Instead, it seemed like half of Roarton was here. It wasn’t just the members of the patrol group, it was faces that Kieren had known growing up, old neighbors and shopkeepers that he hadn’t seen in years.

A few people in the crowd raised their hand in a salute or wave when they spotted Simon, and he nodded back to them with all of the practice ease of someone who felt like they belonged. Everyone’s eyes either skipped over Kieren or scrutinized him with great care, taking in his ratty converse and worn gray jumper like they were objects of potential destruction. 

Simon led them to the small pulpit at the head of the church. There was a makeshift altar set up behind it, where Vicar Oddie and Bill Macy were huddled against, exchanging words in low tones. 

Simon broke stride with Kieren so that he reached the two men first. Bill greeted Simon with the slightest hint of respect - or whatever imitation of respect such a man could manage - but there was also thinly veiled disapproval in his gaze; not quite animosity, but definitely a sort of vexed frustration. Kieren understood why when Bill’s gaze traveled over to his face. Bill barely gave Kieren a second look, but his brief perusal told him that there was certainly no love lost between them. Bill didn’t like that Simon was associated with him.

“Monroe,” Bill grunted. “I s’pose you ‘aven’t changed yer mind about leaving?” His accent was heavier tonight; it was clear he’d been drinking. 

Simon shrugged apologetically. “‘Fraid not, Bill. I have some matters to take care of at home.” 

Bill nodded like he could understand such a thing. Having business to take care must make sense to a man like him, who lived his life as though he was completing a series of Missions. 

Bill jerked his chin over to the pulpit and Simon went to stand behind it, his movements strange and stilted like they had been carefully rehearsed. 

Simon cleared his throat near the microphone and the noise in the church immediately dimmed. Kieren was standing off to the side of the altar where he couldn’t be seen by many, but he had a good enough view of the congregation. Everyone wore a look of anticipation on their face. They were expecting something. 

A girl from the crowd gave a low whistle and there was a smattering of nervous laughter. Kieren squinted and saw a heap of curly hair - Lisa. She waved to Simon and he gave a half-hearted salute in return. 

“Hello, everyone.” Simon cleared his throat. “Bill asked me to say a few words tonight before I leave.” Some in the audience voiced murmurs of confusion.

“I know most of you are already aware, but this is my last night in Roarton,” Simon continued. A few eyebrows went up. Kieren watched Lisa’s face and saw her frowning contemplatively. For the most part, she was unphased. She already knew. How many people had Simon told before Kieren? Would he have even said anything if Kieren hadn’t confronted him?

“I had a speech prepared, but I think I have something more important to talk about tonight.” Simon crumpled up the index card in his hands. “I wanted to start by saying how much this town has done for me. Before I came to Roarton, I was... troubled. I didn’t think I had a chance at redemption.” 

The crowd was silent. Expectant. 

Simon took a breath. His eyes strayed over to Kieren for a moment before flickering back over the audience. “As they say, we all have our crosses to bear. But it seemed to me like I wasn’t strong enough to shoulder my own. Then, when I most needed it, I was sent a sign. A symbol of hope. Recovery. I stand before you tonight redeemed.” 

Simon gave a weighty pause and looked over to Kieren again unconsciously. The audience followed his gaze, straining to see. Kieren ducked behind the steps leading up to the pulpit, heart thudding wildly. He wasn’t exactly well liked in town as it was. No need to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He felt a sting of something like betrayal. What was Simon trying to do, exactly?

“Then the Rising came, and the world as I - as we _all_ knew it - changed irrevocably. Maybe a weaker people would have crumbled under this burden, but Roarton weathered the storm. Roarton pulled through. And I think we owe that to the volunteers - those who fought to protect their home.”

The crowd nodded along eagerly, invigored. “God bless the volunteer force!” someone cried from way in the back. Several others echoed the phrase, and within a minute’s time, the whole church was full of cheers of “God Bless.” 

Kieren felt itchy under his skin, fit to burst. He didn’t know how much longer of this hive-mind he could stand. 

“We served our part,” Simon said, speaking louder over the ruckus. “We did what we had to do at the time. But there is a season to everything. It’s time we confront the fact that the volunteers are no longer needed for their original purpose.” 

The cheering abruptly died down.

“It was pointed out to me some time ago that those corpses that we were rounding up and killing by the dozen - those were people once. _Our_ people. And now we are told that there is a chance that they too can be redeemed. Why not take it? They are no different than I was. With some time, and with some help, we can welcome them back to Roarton.” 

Kieren felt his heart catch for a beat in his chest. For a long while he couldn’t hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears. Then Bill snarled and stepped forward to grab a hold of the mic. Simon sidestepped him and barred Bill’s advance with an arm across his chest.

“The time for fear is over,” Simon shouted over the noise. "Let's make peace with what has happened and move forward together." 

Bill made another desperate grab for the mic and managed to knock it out of Simon's hands. 

"He's a foreigner!" Bill exclaimed, spitting into the mic so harshly that the feedback screeched at him. His earlier respect had vanished. Now he looked at Simon like he had been looking at Kieren for years. "An outsider trying to infiltrate our sacred town, poison our minds. He's no better than those God forsaken rotters still roaming the streets!"

"Look at Bill. He's off his head," a woman near Kieren muttered to herself.

An older lady with a graying bob cut replied snappishly, "Yeah, and how do we know that Monroe fellow isn't in league with the dirty bastard government?" 

The church was in chaos. There was a divide forming: those who agreed with Simon, and those who were so vehemently opposed to him that they could only express it through incoherent jeering.

Vicar Oddie stepped up beside Bill on the pulpit and began speaking over everyone in his loud, ever-reproachful voice. “We have a wolf in our midst, ladies and gentlemen.” Vicar pointed to Simon with one rigid, unyielding digit. “Roarton’s very own Judas stands before us today.”

The audience erupted once more, and Kieren had to cover his ears because they were ringing so badly. Simon stood perfectly still, as though if he remained there long enough, he would become a marble statue. There was not a hint of emotion on his face - anger, frustration, embarrassment, or otherwise. 

Vicar was going on, reciting passages from the Bible like God Himself had descended from the Heavens and imbued him with the holy spirit. Kieren heard bits and pieces. For a long time, he could see only Simon. The light fixtures above cast Simon in sharp relief. There was something like a golden glow surrounding his head. 

Kieren’s hearing filtered back in for a moment. Vicar Oddie was gesturing wildly now, speaking so fervently that he was cherry red in the face: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me...” 

Bill was mouthing along the words beside Vicar, head bowed reverently. Some in the audience crossed themselves. 

“In order to keep Roarton faithful, in order to keep her Right and True, we must cast out those who stray from the path of the Righteous.” Vicar grabbed a hold of Simon’s wrist and shook it like a vulture claiming a slab of carrion. 

The majority of the parishioners roared their approval. Kieren tasted bile on his tongue. 

Simon snatched his arm away from Vicar and set his steady gaze back on the crowd. “Whatever your stance on this, we have to see the Rising for what it is: a second chance. Those who rose were your brothers, sisters, parents, children, and neighbors. They are still that. They were given life again, and that is the most divine thing most of us will ever experience. What more do we need to prove that they were worthy? Don’t let the ideology of a few corrupt men sully that.”

Kieren postulated that he could hear the sound of a pin drop from fifty kilometers.

“Do what you feel is right, not what this man who claims to represent your God tells you to.” 

Vicar adopted a scandalized look, ready to protest, but Simon turned and left the pulpit without another word. The parishioners shifted in place anxiously, open-mouthed. Simon kept up a measured pace until he got to where Kieren was still crouching next the altar. Then he took Kieren’s hand in his own and led him outside by a side entrance that Kieren hadn’t even known existed. 

He and Simon stumbled out into the black night breathless and disoriented. Simon took one look at Kieren’s shell-shocked expression and burst out laughing. Kieren’s surprise dissolved moment later, and soon the two of them were heaving for air, leaning on each other in the middle of the empty street. 

“Do you think he’s still preaching in there?” Kieren wondered aloud, after they had calmed down some.

“Maybe. I really shook them up.” Kieren grinned at him, and Simon mirrored it. 

“You were--” Kieren found himself haltingly searching for the right word to use, but nothing seemed broad enough to encapsulate all that Simon had done tonight. “Great,” Kieren finished lamely. 

“They were your own words,” Simon said earnestly. “What you said to me at the clinic the other day... I know you were right, Kieren. The patrol group treats killing the dead like sport. It’s too easy to forget that they were ever alive at all.”

“Thank you.” Kieren had never meant it more sincerely in his life. 

“It was nothing.” Simon bowed his head deferentially like Bill had done when hearing the prayer. 

“Hey,” Kieren snarked in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Ever think about going into politics?” 

Simon looked at him like he’d grown another head.

“I’m serious, Simon. I saw a totally different side of you tonight. You’d be a shining beacon of light in a world of corrupt politicians.” 

Simon flushed and Kieren kept talking if only to keep the healthy pink tint in his cheeks. “Charismatic, charming, not to mention intelligent. What more can you--” 

Kieren didn’t realise he’d been cut off until he felt himself responding to the warm press of lips on his mouth. It was far more chaste than their first time and kinder too, somehow. Kieren had never been kissed nor kissed someone else like this before. Simon cradled his jaw like Kieren’s bones were made of glass. Every movement of his mouth against Kieren’s was equal parts sure and unsure. 

When they parted, it was Kieren who was flushed and breathless. Simon rubbed a thumb over his pink cheek and traced the fingertip of his index finger across Kieren’s soft eyelashes reverently. 

“You have to promise to come back,” Kieren said without planning to. Simon swayed closer to him and kissed a quick reassurance into the corner of his mouth. 

“If it’s the last thing I do,” Simon said. His hands fell away from Kieren’s face, leaving them both cold. 

They walked back home with their hands brushing on every other step. Simon’s promise was etched into every inch of Kieren’s skin, from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. He felt lit up inside by it. 

That night they slept in Kieren’s bed for the last time together though neither of them needed the extra warmth. Kieren fell asleep to Simon counting the early-Spring freckles emerging on the bridge of his nose and kissing whispered exultations into the skin of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! nearly 7k chapter to partially make up for not updating in almost a month!!! so sorry. won't bore you all with the details, but basically I'm almost done applying to colleges! which is what I've been doing alongside writing this fic whenever I can. Winter break is coming up soon, so hopefully that will give me a little more leeway. Anyway, I'll keep all of you updated to the best of my ability because I appreciate and love my readers more than I can even express. 
> 
> Thank you SO SO much for the comments you guys have left. I have read (& most likely cried over) all of them. I promise I will get around to responding to each and every one within the next few days. 
> 
> Stay tuned. Some old characters are going to be coming back soon. Can you guess who?
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not at all religious, so I'm a bit new to, well, pretty much _everything_ having to do with the church/Christianity. Please keep that in mind while you're reading. Also, every reference I make to God/religion/church figures is purely for the sake of the plot and is not meant to reflect my personal opinions on the matter. That said, if you see any glaring offenses, please let me know!


	13. Transposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for slight gore...? mention of blood, in any case.

She was nowhere and everywhere at once. 

It was dark. She knew that and nothing else. None of the other sensory information her body had once been accustomed to was filtering in. When she inhaled, she smelt nothing. There was no indication of a breeze against her skin. The air did not chill or warm her. Her tongue tasted nothing in her mouth, not even the sourness of her own breath. She suspected it was sour, anyway, because she couldn’t remember eating or drinking anything in recent memory. 

Come to think of it, she didn’t remember much of anything at all.

Her mind was like a sieve - all thoughts that passed through it were as fleeting and inconsequential as fine grains of sand. The only part of her that seemed to be working was her ears, but that wasn’t much help. All she could make out was the soft whirring of something that sounded mechanical in nature.

She remained still for an indeterminate amount of time, that low hum of machinery her only company. It could have been hours before a new sound was made. This one was strange and rounded. It started and stopped in choppy alterations which made something in her curl up with dread. It took a few moments to process: a voice. A human male’s voice. 

“Amy Dyer,” the voice said, closer now. Another sound: papers shuffling against one another. A ballpoint pen clicking once, twice, three times. “Born April 3rd, 1988. Twenty one years old at time of death. Cause of death: complications resulting from Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia.” 

Someone cleared their throat. “Is she conscious?”

“EEG indicates significant neural activity in the frontal and parietal lobes.” 

“However, if you look here...” The sound of a fingernail scraping against laminated paper. “You’ll notice in the earlier CT scan there was extensive damage to the temporal lobe and hippocampus. Interestingly enough, in the latest scan...” The shuffling of paper again. A sharp intake of breath. “The damage seems to have receded. Neural connections that were previously dormant are now beginning to fire again.” 

“You think the Neurotriptyline...?” 

“Yes.”

“Dr Weston, this...” 

“It changes everything.”

-

Simon’s room was just the way he remembered it. His mum had kept it the same, she said, because she was trying to remember him the way he had been as a child. She seemed to be treating him that way, too. She was careful around him, as if he might fall apart at the slightest inconvenience. She made him tea and brought him three extra blankets for his bed even though it hadn’t been legitimately cold in weeks now. 

“Mum,” Simon eventually said. 

Eileen stopped on her way to boil more hot water, eyes comically wide. “Do you need anything else, love?”

“No,” Simon assured. “Slow down. You don’t have to fret over me.” 

Her face softened. “It’s just that you’ve been away so long,” she said quietly. “I wanted to make sure you felt welcome.” 

Simon looked away, heart stuttering. He’d been terrible to her. He really had. He couldn’t imagine what he could do to make it all up, and the fact that _she_ felt like she was the one who needed to do something to fix it was just inconceivable. 

“I’m fine, Mum.” It was true for the first time in a long while. “Don’t worry about me.”

Simon smiled genuinely to prove and Eileen looked startled for a moment before trying out a tentative smile for her own. It smoothed out the deep creases in her forehead.

“What happened to you?” she whispered. 

“I found someone,” Simon said. “I lived with them for a while, and I’m a lot better now. I’ve been clean for close to a year.”

The shine in her eyes spilled over into tears that tracked twin trails down her weathered cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. She looked like she wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure if she had the words for it. Simon knew the feeling.

Simon closed the short distance between them and wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders. He wiped away her tears with the sleeve of his jumper and she sighed shakily into his shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you so much, my boy.” 

Simon bit his cheeks until his eyes stopped stinging. He clutched her closer. It felt immeasurably good to be held by her again, to feel accepted and loved by his family. 

His dad entered the room a few moments later and stopped in his tracks when he saw them. He hadn’t said more than two words to Simon since he arrived. An inscrutable look passed over his face as he stood there looking at them. Simon carefully extracted himself from his mother’s embrace and met his father’s gaze directly. 

Eileen turned wet eyes on his father. “Did you hear that, Dear? Our Simon’s been clean for a year.” 

“Nearly,” Simon added, flushing. 

His father grunted something that came close to approval and walked over to slap Simon on the shoulder. “Good for you, boy.” 

Simon’s chest swelled with something akin to pride. 

Iain Monroe was not a particularly big man, but Simon had always gotten the impression that he was growing up. His father had heavy features and thick dark facial hair that always obscured his mouth. Like Kieren’s father, he didn’t talk much about himself and was very rarely emotional. When his sister - Simon’s aunt - had passed, Iain hadn’t shed a single tear at her funeral. The last time he told Simon he loved him was when he was eight years old and he’d almost just gotten flattened by an oncoming train.

“Thanks, Da.” 

Iain nodded and folded himself into his reclining chair. “What’s for dinner tonight, Lena?”

Eileen sighed. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” 

Iain looked to Simon. “What do you fancy, son?”

Simon thought for a second. “Is that fish and chips place still around?” 

-

After dinner, Eileen made a point to linger downstairs with her son. Iain had gone to bed straight after he finished eating, but Simon had pointedly taken his time, savoring each bite. A meal with his family. Something he’d been sure he would never experience again. 

After the take away boxes where cleared, Eileen sat at the dinner table across from Simon and folded her hands. 

“These past few months have been...” She twisted her wedding ring to and fro on her finger. “Hard, to say the least.”

“I know,” Simon said. “How did you and dad manage here on your own?”

“Oh, the town really pulled together,” Eileen said. “A young lad named Colin brought us provisions every fortnight. Iain even went out on his own a few times. We fared well, considering.”

The cheeriness with which she spoke didn’t completely ease the tension around her eyes. Simon mustered a weak smile. All the that time he’d been worrying about feeding the Walkers, his own family had been struggling. Still, he couldn’t exactly regret staying with Kieren and his family. They were all healthy and alive, thanks in part to him. Simon had never before been the reason for such a thing. 

“You said there was someone,” Eileen said suddenly, as if reading something in his face. “Someone that helped you. Who was it?” 

Simon flushed and Eileen’s eyes sparked with genuine warmth. “A boy?”

“Yeah,” Simon muttered. Then, more loudly, because he refused to be ashamed of Kieren, “His name was-- _is_ Kieren.”

“Were you two...?” 

“ _Mum_ ,” Simon lamented. 

“Oh, Simon, don’t overreact. It’s just that you haven’t been with someone in so long. I was starting to think... well, never mind what I thought. You look happier.” 

“We weren’t necessarily involved,” Simon conceded. “But we... understood each other. I cared for him. Very much.” Even as he said it Simon knew that it was the understatement of the century.

“I thought as much. It’s the way you talk about him,” Eileen said, “as though he’s the only thing you can see, even now.” 

“I don’t--” Eileen gave him a look that locked Simon’s jaw. He fell silent. 

“Anyway, I hope you don’t keep away from this ‘Kieren’ character for too long. I expect you told him you’re only staying here until you get back on your feet?” 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Simon asked, a note of teasing in his voice. He wish he didn’t have to deflect her questions, but truthfully, he doesn’t know the answer himself. 

“Not yet,” Eileen said, shoving him gently. “I only just got you back.”

-

Amy. Amy. That was her name. That’s what they kept calling her, at least. They told her she was lucky to have even that much. All of the other subjects had been just a number. She- she was lucky. Privileged. She had a _name_.

-

A part of Kieren had expected to fall apart without Simon around. After all, wasn't that what all of those romanticized love novels always talked about? Not being able to live without the person you--

Well, whatever Kieren had read about, it wasn’t true. He was upset, of course. It hurt to stay up late waiting for Simon to come home and then realising: _Oh. He isn’t coming back tonight._ Not for a very long time, in all likelihood. The realisation was like a punch to the gut sometimes. Other times, it was just a low simmer of hurt in Kieren’s chest. 

Jem watched him every day like he was a landmine. One wrong step, one errant button mistakenly pushed, and he’d blow everyone, including himself, to smithereens. He didn’t have the heart to sit her down and tell her otherwise, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t true. 

At first, Kieren spent the lengthening spring days drawing in his room. Everything was in black and white still, but the lines were coming more easily to him now. He no longer got stuck on a curve or shape that reminded him of Rick’s face.

But not everything about getting back into art was easy. Drawing so often made the scar on his wrist itch. It was still shiny and pink from where the scab had fallen often months ago. The cut was deep enough that the scar would likely remain there for the rest of his life. Small price to pay, he told himself. 

Still, every time it itched Kieren had to stop for a while and run his thumb over the long cut, feel the clean edges where the knife had sliced through his skin smoothly, and then the more jagged skin at the end of the healing wound, where his hand had become unsteady as he lost blood. Had his knife slipped less than a centimeter to the left, he could’ve easily severed an irreplaceable nerve or tendon. 

Sometimes Kieren’s own luck astounded him. 

-

The world was very small. And dark, for the most part. The only light that came in was from the slight opening above, where the strange, thick material that covered him parted at the seams. He kept his eyes fixed on that miniscule crevasse, finding that his eyes were both straining for and against that pinprick of light. 

He couldn’t place himself anywhere in particular because there were no natural indicators - no chill in wind, no taste of grit and dirt in the air, no stale smell of horse shit that usually permeated the country roads. The only way he knew he was moving was the sound of his head knocking against a metal sheet over and over and over again. There was a rhythm to it, much like lying flat in a truck bed as it traversed the bumpy, gravel-strewn terrain of an unpaved road. 

Though he knew intellectually that all of that slamming of his skull against metal couldn’t be good, he didn’t feel a thing. In his experience, head trauma usually _hurt_. This was nothing. He was fine. He was fine. He was-- 

The light from above shifted as the presumed truck bed jostled, catching on a spot of something dark and wet next to his head. It glinted strangely off of the metal surface, like liquid velvet. He stared blankly at the viscous black fluid as it pooled around his face and coagulated. Slowly, as if pulled by strings, he lifted his hand and trailed his fingertips along the back of his head. A few centimeters above the base of his skull, the flesh gave way to a deep, leaking gash.

-

Kieren woke up with his heart beating so hard he could hear it in his ears and feel it throbbing throughout every nerve-ending of his body. It felt like someone had plunged a fist into his chest and twisted.

Before he was coherent enough to stop himself, his fingers scrambled for his mobile and pressed a number on speed dial. It ran twice before the line picked up. 

“Kieren?” He sounded half-asleep. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kieren lied. “Sorry to wake you, Simon. Fuck, this was stupid. I’m just going to hang--” 

“No,” Simon cleared his throat. There was a sound like sheets rustling and a lamp clicking on. “I’m awake. What is it? Another nightmare?” 

Kieren felt a tightening in his chest once more, only this time for an entirely different reason. Simon sounded so concerned. How could someone care so much about him?

“This one was... it felt different. Real.” Kieren hiccuped a wry laugh. “I know that sounds ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t,” Simon insisted. “Do you want to tell me about it?” 

Kieren sucked in a shuddering breath. “Hard to describe. I felt it more than saw it. All I remember is these hands, soaked in something, reaching out to touch me. With my eyes closed I can still feel them.” 

For a long time there was just the sound of Simon breathing. Then he said, quietly, “You know, back when I got high all the time, I used to dream of my mother a lot. I could never see her face, but I knew it was her. Sometimes I would just hear her crying or wake up with the memory of her reaching out to touch me.” He cleared his throat. “I thought it was just the drugs messing with my head at the time, but now I know better. It was the guilt. Every night I dreamt of her because I knew I had hurt her and I couldn’t fix it.”

“So you’re saying these nightmares I keep having are a manifestation of what - my guilt?”

“Could be,” Simon said. Then he was quiet for a long moment. “If there was anything I could do to help you, I--” 

“I know, Simon.” Kieren worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Maybe there is, actually.” 

“Tell me, and I’ll do anything I can to give it to you.”

Kieren’s exhale caught on a breathy laugh. He hadn’t been sure he could ask at first, but the sincerity and urgency in Simon’s voice startled him. It sounded like he was ready to kill a man, if Kieren asked. 

“Nothing serious,” Kieren promised. “Just don’t hang up. Stay on the line until I fall asleep.” 

“Of course,” Simon murmured. “I’ll be here for as long as you need.” 

“Thank you.” 

They lapsed into silence, and for many minutes the only sound in Kieren’s room was breathy inhales and exhales coming from Simon on the other line. After a little while he began to hum softly, a pleasing and somewhat familiar melody that Kieren couldn’t pinpoint the origin of. He lay there with his eyes closed and felt himself drift with the lilting of Simon’s voice.

Though Kieren felt vaguely ridiculous for having asked this of Simon, he couldn’t deny its apparent efficacy. Just knowing that Simon was there made him feel more secure. Slowly, in increments, his body untensed. His eyelids drooped, breath coming more shallowly. His body became pliant and vulnerable once more. Closing his eyes no longer felt like tiptoeing around the edges of a black abyss that was ready to swallow him back up the moment he surrendered to unconsciousness. 

Kieren’s last conscious thought before he dropped off was that Simon really had a lovely voice, and that he’d have to get him to play the guitar and sing along with it one day, sometime soon...

There were no more nightmares that night. 

-

Several miles away in a cold, sterile room, a man gripped a scalpel in his gloved hands and began to a draw a steady line down the length of his subject’s back. In the wake of the blade, black blood sprung forth like liquid magma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it was such a long wait again! I was really hoping to update by Christmas, but my plans were cruelly thwarted by the last of my college apps (which are nearly officially done - only one more to go!!). I don't want to make any promises, but towards the end of January - after I've suffered through finals week - I should have more time to work on this fic. It's probably too early to tell. Regardless, I'm in it for the long run. 
> 
> Big thanks to everyone who has stuck with me and this fic so far. I literally do not have the words to properly convey my gratitude. It is so, so nice when people comment and tell me they're enjoying this. 
> 
> P.S. Sorry that nothing much happened in this chapter. It's mostly a set-up for the ones to come, because quite a few characters are coming back into play very soon. Not just the ones I've hinted at in this chapter. Any guesses?


	14. What Once Was Lost

It had been three months since Simon’s departure. Life in Roarton was almost entirely back to normal in the shallow sense of the word. People went to work, schools were open again, and most businesses were up and running. But there were whispers. Kieren first caught wind of them as he was strolling past Furness B&B on the way to the Save ‘n’ Shop one afternoon. Sandra Furness had a reputation for being a bit of a gossip, and everyone tended to take what she said with a rather large grain of salt, but Kieren couldn’t help but listen in. His interest was piqued the moment he heard ‘PDS’.

He slowed his gait as he loped past the B&B building, eventually stopping to lean against a lamp post not far from the entrance. Sandra was pacing back and forth in the foyer, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice drifted outside through a large glass window that was open to let in the summer breeze. Kieren shifted awkwardly on his feet, hands itching to occupy themselves so that he didn’t look so suspicious just standing there. Eventually, he settled on pulling out his ancient flip phone and pretending to be entirely engrossed in the tiny glow of the screen. 

Sandra chattered on and on endlessly, on some kind of tangent. She was getting farther and farther away from her original topic, and Kieren was a second from walking away when she paused abruptly and made a sort of strangled sound in her throat. 

“Clive!” she shrieked. Kieren turned his head quickly to catch his expression, but her faced was turned down. He could only see the bone white of her knuckles where they were wrapped around the phone. “No! Don’t bother. I don’t _care_ what the pamphlet says. I absolutely forbid you from bringing that loathsome creatu--” Her voice broke off. Kieren could hear the faint sound of shouting on the other line. 

“Don’t tell me what not to call her! I’ll say whatever I like. It’s the truth, anyway. She was bad enough to have around while she was _alive_ , what makes you think...” Sandra let out a frustrated sigh and scrubbed a hand over her face, which was tomato red from frustration. There was a beat of silence. “You promise?”

“Fine.” Kieren chanced another look and found that Sandra had a peculiar look on her face now. Slowly, her skin returned to its normal pallor and the line of her brow smoothed out. “You have to promise me, Clive. And the town can’t know about this either. You know how everyone feels about those... things.” 

Clive said something in response and Sandra scrunched her nose in distaste. “Hurry up. And don’t let anyone see her on your way home.” 

She hung up and immediately sagged against the counter. Kieren’s usual reaction to her was to roll his eyes, but in this instance he felt something almost akin to pity for her. People like Sandra couldn’t see anything outside of their own little world. He briefly spared a thought for how Simon had managed to live at the B&B for a time, and then quickly went on his way.

-

It was a quiet evening in the Walker house, which was why they were all so startled by the shouting outside. Naturally, everyone’s first thought was _danger_. They’d been assured that the streets were free of the dead, but many were still wary. It wasn’t inconceivable that one of them might wander from the forest out into the streets. No one let their children play out in the yard anymore. 

Jem was the first to react. She tore back the curtains in the living room and made a startled sound at the scene outside. Lee’s Cul-de-Sac was a private, quiet pocket of residential living in Roarton. It wasn’t very often that you say someone toting a gun, let alone pointing the barrel of it at one of its residents. 

Kieren was next to look outside. What he saw was... well, if there were any words for it, he didn’t know them. Sue and Steve rushed to join them at the window. 

Ken and Maggie Burton were a kind couple who mostly kept to themselves. Maggie was known for being the grandmotherly type. She had babysat almost every child in Roarton at some point, it seemed - including Kieren and Jem. Kieren hadn’t been particularly close with her since the time that Jem was in diapers, but he still held a certain fondness for her. 

Seeing Maggie with a gun to her temple evoked a keen sense of horror in Kieren. Bill was circling her like a vulture, finger inches from the trigger. Kieren could hear Ken pleading with him in the background. Through the thick window pane, he could make out Bill saying in his smug voice, “How do, Maggie? Long time no see.” 

Maggie nodded and tried for a smile, but Bill wasn’t even looking at her anymore. Instead, he turned to Ken. “I seem to recall, Ken, that the last time I saw yer wife, she were in a casket.” 

Ken shook his head frantically and stuttered something that Kieren couldn’t make out. Bill snarked back for a few moments, and it was clear without even hearing what they were saying that Ken was fighting a losing battle. Bill had come here with intention to kill, and nothing Ken said would change that.

After Simon made that speech before he left, Bill’s hold over the patrol group had weakened some. His words no longer held as much gravity. A couple of people had even left the ranks, citing unsurety about the group’s mission as their reason. There were rumors that Bill was looking to reassert his authority, and besides that, reinstate his mission. What better way than this? 

Beside Jem, Steve was looking on with glassy eyes. Sue put a hand on Kieren’s shoulder and remained silent. Kieren closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Maggie was holding two contact lenses in her palm and looking up at Bill with a wavering smile. Bill returned it, and Kieren second-guessed himself. Maybe... maybe he would spare her.

“That’s more like it,” Bill said, and before anyone could make a move, he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Kieren flinched so hard that he jostled Jem, who was staring at the street open-mouthed. 

Ken fell to his knees. 

-

Silence loomed oppressively over them like a living thing. Kieren couldn’t stand it anymore. He pushed off from the sofa where his parents were sitting and strode over to the coat rack. As he was shrugging on his jacket, Steve snapped out of his stupor for a moment and said, “What are you doing?” 

“Someone has to help Ken get back to his house.” 

“It’s late,” Steve commented absently. When Kieren didn’t bother to reply, he lapsed into silence again. 

Jem stood on shaky legs. “I’ll go with you.” 

It wasn’t hard to find Ken. He was kneeling in the same place on sidewalk that he had been twenty minutes ago when Bill and his goons had carted away Maggie’s body in the back of their pickup. He didn’t make any acknowledged of their approach. Kieren stooped down to his level and said, quietly, “Come, Ken. Let’s get you inside.” 

Jem helped him stand, and Ken walked mechanically with them to his front door. The light was on in the kitchen. There was a smell like pot roast drifting in from the open window. The house looked friendly and warm, a stark contrast to the gauntness of Ken’s face. He seemed sunken in now, like he every minute that had passed since his wife’s death aged him ten years. 

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Jem asked, uncharacteristically polite. 

Ken’s eyes were trained on a point far in the distance. When he spoke, he addressed the empty air beside Jem. “No,” he said, voice cracking over the syllable. “There’s nothing.” 

“All right,” Kieren said uncertainly. He felt like more of a kid than ever. How did you deal with something as grave as this? He thought of saying sorry, but then figured that it would only sound patronizing. “Take care, Ken.” 

Ken froze then. His eyes, the only part of him that was moving, roved over Kieren’s face. “You take care, son.” 

Something like electricity prickled at the base of Kieren’s skull and slid slowly down his spine. He nodded at Ken and stepped back to put some distance between them. He vaguely heard Jem saying goodbye, and then the two of them walked quickly back to their house. 

-

It was the anniversary of the rising, and Roarton was commommerating it by holding a service in the new section of the graveyard that was devoted to those who had fought and died to protect Roarton, and the civilians who had perished along the way. Every one in town was expected to be there, but Kieren didn’t do very well at funerals, especially after Amy. Besides, he didn’t want to run in to Bill or any of his sidekicks, because he didn’t know how he’d react if he saw them now. Remnants of Maggie’s black blood still stained the street. 

At the service, Vicar would no doubt list off the names of those who had died, and perhaps hold a vigil for them. Kieren would mourn them from home, he told his parents. Jem gave him a weird look but shrugged it off. They left without much of an argument; when Steve had looked like he was going to protest, Sue murmured something in his ear and he quieted down. Soon, Kieren was alone in the house. 

Kieren sat on the sofa in the dim living room. Outside, it was overcast - the kind of day that was so dark that it seemed like it was much later. He tossed his phone from one hand to the other, idly debating whether or not he should call Simon. For a second, he wished he had someone else to talk to. How was it that he’d gone to school for years and hadn’t made a single friend that he could have even a shallow conversation? 

He knew perfectly well if he was being honest. No one had wanted to talk to him after word had gotten around of his suicide attempt. Every acquaintance he’d made in college had flat left him after they’d made the one requisite formality visit to him at the hospital. One look at huge swaths of gauze wrapped around his wrist and everyone turned tail and ran. 

Kieren was the type to make only one or two really close friends at once, anyway. And it just so happened that two of those friends were dead. The third was several towns over, probably well on his way to forgetting about Kieren. 

He thought of the patrol group and the way they were probably desecrating the names of the risen right now as he sat here. Vicar would say something about how they were evil decoys put on this earth for one purpose: to lead them astray from God’s righteous path. And Bill would no doubt back him up. It made Kieren nauseous to think that someone could talk about people like that, especially people who had been just like Amy - young and bright, with a boundless future ahead of her. Amy lost her life just as the members of the patrol group had: fighting.

-

“On this solemn anniversary, we honour the fighters who risked their lives, and the fearless souls who lost them to protect this precious community.” Vicar’s voice rang out over the silent cemetery. All eyes were fixed on him. Dozens of grim-faced onlookers bowed their heads in agreement. 

Jem closed her eyes and tried to think of the dead, but all she could see was the image of her older brother imprinted on her eyelids, stark and pale after having lost so much blood. She was the second one who saw him on the night he had almost bled out in the cave. He was so far gone that he hadn’t recognized her, and Jem had thought: _This is it. The last time I see my brother, he’s going to be half-dead and clinging to life, and he won’t even know me. This is the last image I will have of him._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden increase of murmuring amongst the crowd. Jem squinted her eyes open and saw Bill stepping up to the platform. Vicar looked smug and satisfied off to his right. 

“Here he is,” Vicar announced, gesturing to Bill, “the man who led that noble fight. Won’t you say a few words, Bill?”

Bill cleared his throat and Jem could taste the anticipation in the air. They were all waiting for some great speech to bolster them through this grave time. Rick opened his mouth and delivered his first line: “Great news. Rick is coming home.” 

There was a silence that was almost deafening in its intensity. Jem held her breath and tried not to remember the look on her brother’s face all of those months ago, when she’d told him his best friend was dead. 

Bill’s eyes did not waver from the single point he was fixated on in the distance. He looked at nothing in particular. “We expect your full support.” With that, Bill stepped down from the platform, linked arms with his wife, and walked off. 

The crowd erupted into conversation at once, giving up all pretense of whispering and propriety. 

“He must be one of them,” someone said to Jem’s left. But she wasn’t listening anymore; her first and only thought was that Kieren needed to know. 

-

Kieren knelt at the tombstone and ran his fingers over the engraved letters. _Amy Dyer_. She had been 21 years old when she died. Her grave was only a few meters from Rick’s, but Kieren couldn’t bring himself to look at his just yet, especially not on the anniversary of the rising. He felt guilty whenever he tried to, like Rick was looking down on him somewhere and judging him for having tried to kill himself. It was ridiculous, Kieren knew, and it was probably more his own voice that he was hearing than Rick’s, but still-- 

“I know you!” 

Kieren jumped up from his crouching position and almost tripped over the tombstone in question. That voice. He turned around with a name on the tip of his tongue. “ _Amy_?”

“Kieren Walker! I knew I’d see you around again.” Amy held out her arms like she was showing off an outfit on the runway and beamed. “So, what do you think?” she asked. “Is talking to my gravestone better than the real thing?”

“I wasn’t really talking to it,” he said seriously, biting back a smile. “Touching it, more like.”

Amy affected a scandalized look and put a hand to her chest. “Take me out to dinner first, at least.”

Kieren shook his head and found that he couldn’t fight the grin on his face anymore. “I missed you, Amy.”

“I missed you too, dumb-dumb.” She came forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulder in a tight embrace, and Kieren was struck by the coldness of her.

He remembered, suddenly, how she had reached for him in the Save ‘n’ Shop with gnarled hands, nails like talons. Had that really been only months ago? It seemed like a different life time, now that Amy was here beside him, ‘alive’ in some capacity and grinning at him like he was the sun.

When she stepped back, Kieren looked her over carefully and saw the places where the marble white of her skin shone through the layer of flesh-toned make-up she’d caked on top of it.

“How have you been?” she asked, raising both eyebrows in preemptive surprise as though she were expecting Kieren to tell her some fantastical tale of what he’d been up to while she was busy… reanimating.

“Er,” Kieren started. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Okay. The first few months after you-- passed were hard, but I’m still here now, so.”

Amy eyed him suspiciously. “There’s more to that story, handsome. But I understand your reluctance. Your BDFF just came back from beyond the grave, after all! We should at least have some drinks first.”

“BDFF?”

“Best Dead Friend Forever,” Amy explained, stopping just short of saying “duh.”

“Ah,” said Kieren. He didn’t know how to tell her how implausible it was for them to get drinks, what with the whole town still so up-in-arms about the dead. He would not allow a repeat of the Maggie incident to happen – especially not to Amy.

“I’m sensing some hesitation,” Amy said, nodding sagely. “That’s okay. I know this—“ she gestured to her body, “—is a little hard to take in. Took me a while to get used to myself.”

“No, it’s not… it’s not that,” Kieren assured. “You’re fine. It’s everyone else I’m worried about. The people here haven’t exactly been open-minded about this sort of thing. We’re more of a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ type of crowd.”

“That include you, too?”

“No,” Kieren said firmly. “Do I strike you as the type?”

“Of course not,” Amy said lightly, brightening suddenly. “But you said ‘we’. It never hurts to be sure.” She clapped her hands loudly in front of her as though to dispel the tension. Kieren tried not to stare too long at the bruised quality of her hands, or the blackened skin around her fingernails. “We should celebrate regardless.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Drinks at my place?” Amy suggested, smiling so that her teeth showed.

“Didn’t know you had a place.”

“The bungalow right around the corner from the B&B. My nan left it to me. I was her only next of kin.” She shrugged. “Not sure if I still qualify, being dead and all, but I’m staying there until someone tries to kick me out.”

Kieren laughed a little. That sounded like Amy. It didn’t matter what she looked like now; it didn’t change the immense fondness Kieren could feel taking root in his chest again. When he’d found her at Save ‘n’ Shop a part of him believed that he would never see her again - that those treatment facilities were a scam. It felt immeasurably good to be wrong. 

Amy offered her arm to Kieren and he linked theirs together. This time, when their skin touched, he felt nothing but the warmth of being in her presence again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was going to be twice the size, but I felt bad for holding out on you guys & didn't want to wait any longer. At this point, we're pretty much smack in the middle of canon era (although my timeline's a little wonky - believe me, I know), so I've begun to incorporate real canon events into my text. I've even directly quoted a few lines here and there from ITF. See if you can spot them. 
> 
> Also, someone else is coming back next chapter (hint: starts with R and ends with ick)! And after that, there will be a few more incoming characters... and then maybe a few more. All exciting stuff. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking by me, guys! I also happened to notice that we're at 99 comments for this fic. Needless to say, I'm v excited to break 100. Who's it gonna be?
> 
> P.S. SORRY for the lack of Simon in this chapter. Promise you will see more of him.


	15. Mary Celeste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for suicide mention. chapter title taken from a Keaton Henson song by the same name.

Simon’s feet dug deep wells into the wet soil beneath him. It was dreary out, and the playground was completely deserted. No one would take any special notice of an older man sitting by himself, minding his own business.

He had been here for two hours, taking in his surroundings - the impending summer humidity, the slate gray of the sky, clouds, and the crisp scent of petrichor from the recently mowed lawn. 

Simon turned his phone over and over in palms, staring at the display screen which read 'Kieren' in bold print. They hadn't spoken in nearly a fortnight. It wouldn't hurt to make a quick call just to check up on him, surely. Simon brushed his thumb over the call button, trying to psyche himself up to press it. 

Not a soul had passed through the playground in the entire time he’d been sitting there, which was why he took such keen notice of the shuffling footsteps that approached from his left. The footsteps were coming from a pair of dirty converse coated at least three layers deep in grime. Someone had scribbled all over the once-white rims, but Simon couldn’t read what it said at this distance.

A part of him almost didn’t want to see the person those shoes belonged to - a part of him that knew something he did not. But he couldn’t help himself. He looked up.

It didn’t come as much of a shock as Simon suspected it should have. Simon saw Frankie before Frankie saw him. He had dark shadows like bruises under his eyes and dirty blond hair that flopped over his forehead in artless curls. His eyes were blue and set deeply in his head so that his nose looked bigger than it was. He was a good-looking kid overall, but years of drug use had turned his skin sallow and made the delicate veins under his eyes spider unattractively. 

Simon spent the few moments before Frankie saw him trying to find any differences in his appearance. Other than the fact that he looked more exhausted than usual, there was nothing. It was the same face that Simon had spent many nights kissing while he was high out of his mind.

Frankie, presumably feeling eyes on him, flicked his gaze over in Simon’s direction. It took him a moment to focus; when he did, he stopped dead in his tracks. His jaw fell open for a moment, and then he snapped it closed and clenched his teeth so hard that the muscles in his neck jumped.

They stared wordlessly at each other for a full minute. When Simon made no move to get up, Frankie swallowed and walked over to him. “Simon.”

Simon nodded his acknowledgement but said nothing. 

“S’been a while,” Frankie said, words slurring together in the way they did when he was nervous. Simon used to think it was cute. 

“It has,” Simon agreed. Frankie bobbed his head awkwardly, eyes flickering to the vacant space beside Simon on the park bench. Eventually, he gave up all pretense and just sat down. Simon held his tongue.

“How are you?” Frankie asked, voice dropping like it did when he was being serious. This was unfamiliar. Frankie had rarely ever been serious with Simon, except for when it was life and death. Even then, there had always been mirth in his eyes. 

“I’m good,” Simon said, and felt a little vindictive surge of warmth at that being the truth.

“Yeah?” Frankie nodded, smiling. “Cool.” He cleared his throat. “I mean, that’s good. I-- I’m glad.” 

“Thank you.” Simon fixed him with a level stare. “Was there something you wanted?”

Frankie flinched, but when his earned none of the expected sympathy from Simon, his frown dissolved into a nervous laugh. “You’ve changed, Simon.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed. “I’m clean now. Have been for months.”

“I know. Could tell from the moment I saw you.” Frankie tucked a curl behind his ears and looked down. “It’s not just that, though. Y’look happier.”

“I am,” Simon admitted. 

“Don’t think I saw a single smile on your face the whole time we were together,” Frankie said wryly, mouth twisting in a grimace.

“Fran--” Simon started exasperatedly. He didn’t want to do this now. Then again, he had come to this playground of his own accord. What he had really expected? He’d been here with Frankie dozens of times in the past. What was the likelihood that he _wouldn’t_ have run into him?

“I know,” Frankie interjected. “You don’t wanna talk about it. S’all right. Nice seeing you.” Frankie began to stand, but Simon stopped him with a hand on his wrist. It was as cold as chilled metal. Simon drew his hand back quickly, shivering. 

“That’s not true," Simon said, swallowing. 

“What?” 

“Things were good between us in the beginning. I smiled all the time.” 

“Did they really get so bad?” Frankie asked.

“Don’t,” Simon warned. “You know what you did.”

“I know I mucked it all up,” Frankie admitted. “And I know why you left. I don’t blame you for it.”

“Good, because it wasn’t my fault,” Simon said resolutely. For a moment, both of them processed the sting of shock that came with the words. Simon knew that just a year ago the phrase ‘it wasn’t my fault’ would never have left his mouth. Frankie had known Simon when he was younger, vulnerable, and full to the brim with self-loathing. When they were together, Simon would have thought _everything_ was his fault.

It seemed that he had surprised Frankie into silence. Simon sat up a little straighter and caught those evasive eyes of his. “You’re not a good person, Frankie. I knew that when we first met, but I thought I deserved you back then. I know now that I don’t.” Simon stood and began to walk away. He almost didn’t stop when Frankie called out to him. Almost.

“I’m sorry,” Frankie panted, catching up to him in two quick strides. “For what it’s worth. Sorry I drove you away. Sorry I lied to you about everything. I should’ve trusted you, Simon. You were good for me.” 

“I can’t say the same,” Simon said neutrally. “Please don’t pretend that you ever cared for me beyond the fact that I was fun to shag when you were high and horny.”

Frankie reached out to squeeze his shoulder, his grip so tight that Simon felt his skin purpling beneath his fingers. “I loved you,” Frankie said quietly. “Still do, in the way that you can never really stop that kind of thing.”

Simon felt his throat tightening suddenly, and was abruptly furious at himself. He had come here on purpose. If he was honest with himself, he was hoping to see Frankie again. He’d never gotten any closure. That was more than evident in the way that, even now, he couldn’t stem the rush of conflicting emotions from welling in his chest.

“That was a long time ago,” Simon managed to say. “I’ve moved on.” 

Frankie took a step closer and laid a flat palm over Simon’s breastbone, right above his heart. “Look at yourself, Simon. You haven’t.”

Simon shrugged Frankie’s hand off of him and put some distance between them. He could feel the phantom burn where they had been touching. Disgust curdled in his stomach. “Maybe _you_ haven’t.” 

“Oh, come on!” Frankie grabbed for him again, but Simon ducked out of his reach. “Just hear me out. Let’s go somewhere more private and talk.” 

Simon shook his head and began to walk away, taking care not to go too fast so it wouldn’t look like he was running away.

“At least let me explain,” Frankie implored, jogging to keep pace with him. “You owe me that.” 

“I owe you nothing,” Simon seethed. “I gave you plenty. Now all I ask is for you to leave me alone.”

Frankie stopped moving suddenly. He held his hands up in surrender and said, "I'm dead." He barked a short, bitter laugh as he watched Simon's pinched expression slowly dissolved into horror. Then he continued, "Only been back for a few days. Thought I'd get reacquainted with the neighborhood. Pure dumb luck that I ran into you." 

"How?" Simon asked faintly. 

"How'd I come back? Well--"

"How did you die?"

"Oh." Frankie grinned manically, and now that Simon was paying attention, he noticed the bluish tint to Frankie's cracked lips and felt sick. Frankie tugged down the collar of his baggy jumper and Simon immediately saw the angry red ligature marks against the marble white of his neck. He had put some kind of cover-up on his face, but it was a shoddy job, and he hadn't bothered to cover his neck at all. "You were the last thing I thought about," Frankie said, still grinning wide. "I wasn't high up enough for the rope to snap my neck. So I had plenty of time to think."

Simon's stomach heaved. He swallowed bile and it burned all the way down his throat. He felt steeped, suddenly, in the kind of all-encompassing guilt that he hadn't known in a long time now. He didn't exactly welcome it, but it was damnably familiar. A part of him was comforted to feel it again. Much like Frankie, it was an old friend. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk," Frankie said. The grin on his face shrunk into a disarming smile. He held his hand out to Simon, palm up. "Come on."

God help him. Simon took his hand and followed. 

-

Rick Macy sat in the back of an armed military vehicle for the first time in his second life. Or at least that’s what he’d been told to think of it as. He was privileged to be here, thinking, breathing, and existing at all. He knew that. A mate of his, Hank - who had been closer to the blast when the IED went off - lost his entire lower half. Hank woke up screaming. He had begged to be put back down. 

Rick knew he was lucky to have gotten away with all four limbs intact, but it was hard to have perspective when you looked in the mirror and only saw half of your face looking back at you. He had been avoiding all reflective surfaces since he first got a look at himself after the Neuro-something had started to work.

It wasn’t hard to do. No one was particularly eager to pretend that Rick was alive or that he didn’t have a huge scar bisecting his cheek. It was different in the military. There was no bullshite. No play-pretend or fairytales. Everyone took the truth as it came, and when Rick opened his new eyes to the slate gray walls of the treatment center, he was glad that familiar honour was afforded to him to here as well. The truth was not concealed from him. They told him very frankly what he was and how he had gotten there.

Dead. He was dead. He knew before they said it. Rick could feel it in the leaden weight of his limbs and in the stuffed-cotton sensation in his head. For a few horrible hours, before the shock had worn off, he went around sincerely believing that this was what Hell was. His father had certainly drilled it into his head often enough: _Yer goin’ to Hell with that Walker boy if he has any say about it. Do ye want that, Rick? Ye want to let him drag ye down with him?_

He didn’t, but it seemed that had happened anyway. What was Hell if not this: being dragged back into the world of the living without a heartbeat, no longer able to _feel_ much of anything, partially deaf in one ear, body only saved from being blown to bits because it was sheltered by the shredded corpse of your Lieutenant. 

Coming back to Roarton was a different kind of death sentence. Up until this point, he was, at the very least, able to be honest with himself. But the moment he stepped off of that truck and met the eyes of his father, that would change. Bill Macy would tell him who he was from now on.

His heart was heavy and idle as he planted his dusty boots on Roarton soil. His dad greeted him with a clap on the shoulder and veiled eyes. His mother was no better. She nodded stiffly at him and attempted a watery smile. Rick was unsurprised that the welcoming party was not bigger. Bill had influence in Roarton, but surely not even that could overcome what he was now. It struck Rick then that everyone knew, and there was absolutely no way he could go about hiding it.

His dad took him shooting first thing because it was the only thing they had ever truly had in common. Rick was good at it, and he liked the little thrill the recoil of a gun gave him. He also liked the way it made him feel like he had even the faintest bit of control and power over his own life. 

Rick put on a brave face and knelt in the fields with Bill, drifting through the entire conversation in a haze of disbelief. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t Bill making friendly conversation and looking at him like he wasn’t the monster Rick saw in the mirror. It wasn’t Bill handing him a weapon and joking about the porn magazines (all full of tits - he wasn’t stupid) he’d found in Rick’s room while they were cleaning it out months ago. It _was_ his mother isolating herself, avoiding his gaze, speaking in half-sentences and fluttering nervously about. Janet Macy was the only normal variable in this entire equation, in fact. 

Speaking of, she was hurrying across the field right at the moment, carrying a little plastic container of sandwiches with her. Rick looked over at her as she neared him. “All right, Mum?” 

“Yeah,” she said too quickly. “Just been sorting your room out.”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Bill said smugly. “Your grot mags are still intact.” 

“Bill!” Janet admonished.

“What! I knew that’d be on his mind,” Bill defended lightly. 

Both of their guards were down now. Rick saw his chance and took it. “Saw Jem walker out there today,” he said casually. 

“Aye,” said Bill. “She always struck me as a good lass. Considering the family’s she from.” 

Rick looked away, out toward the targets, entirely unable to meet his father’s gaze. “They all right, are they?” he asked faintly.

“Who?” 

“Walkers.”

“Yeah. They’re all right,” Bill said distractedly, fiddling with a jammed part of his rifle. Rick knew that was all he would say about it. Frustrated, Bill burst out, “This piece of crap keeps doin’ this!” 

Janet shuffled awkwardly behind them. “They did go through that... bad patch before the Rising.” 

“Selfish of him,” Bill muttered, eyes still on the rifle. 

“There was something wrong in Kieren’s head, Bill,” Janet said solemnly. 

“I don’t care how bent out of shape you get - you keep going,” Bill grunted. 

“What happened?” Rick asked, closing his eyes briefly. He felt a phantom twisting in his gut, whatever was akin to dread in a corpse. Bill said nothing. He whipped his head towards Janet, who was chewing on her lip. 

“I shouldn’t have brung it up,” she said regretfully. 

“Oh, come on,” Rick goaded, trying for light-heartedness when everything in him screamed for the opposite. “He didn’t get kicked out of college, did he?” 

“Nah.” Bill picked up half of a sandwich and brought it to his mouth. “Tried to kill himself.” 

The smile on Rick’s face evaporated like salt water in the desert. He stared out at the targets, vision doubling, head rushing. 

“Would have been a weak ending for a weakling,” Bill mused. He took a huge bite of the sandwich and chewed lazily. Janet bit her tongue. The next second she was walking away, silent. 

Rick pulled the trigger without making the conscious decision to do so. The next thing he knew, the target before him had been obliterated, and his entire chest was heaving like he’d run both ways up a hill. Bill was polishing off his sandwich. 

-

“And then - get this! The first thing he says is, ‘I’ve never seen such a big lizard before’!” Amy throws her head back and guffaws before she’s even gotten the sentence out. “So I told him if he was thinking of becoming a plumber, he should get used to seeing all sorts of wildlife lurking in the pipes.” 

Kieren grins around a mouthful of tea - something flowery and vaguely bitter that Amy’s grandmother had kept stored in jars by the dozen. “Did he take your advice?” 

“Who knows?” Amy said, shrugging. “S’pose I could look him up at find out, but where’s the fun in that?” 

Kieren snorted his agreement and swallowed another sip of the tea. Amy didn’t have anything else because, as it turned out, she couldn’t drink or eat anything without retching black goo for at least 15 minutes. 

“Sounds like you were good at making friends,” Kieren teased. 

“No better than you.” Amy propped her feet up on the coffee table and wrapped her fingers around the empty flower-patterned mug in her lap. She didn’t mind pretending, she had told him. Besides, it was no fun to drink alone. Amy blew away imaginary steam from the lip of her mug. “So tell me more about what you’ve been up to. I haven’t seen you in over a year. Surely _something_ of note has happened to you since then...” 

Kieren tapped his fingers against his own mug in an uneven rhythm, studying the floor pattern rather intently. “Well, I may have met someone.” 

“Yeah?” Amy leaned forward eagerly in her seat, eyebrows arching. Her eyes were still brown, but Kieren suspected that was just the contacts, like Maggie Burton had been wearing before she died. They weren’t quite the same shade they had been, but despite the flat quality to them, there was still something vivid and warm in Amy’s gaze. 

“Yeah, erm...” Kieren took a breath. “His name’s Simon. He’s the one who, ah, saved me.” He gestured with one hand to the pink scar on his wrist. 

“Oooh,” Amy cooed. “How romantic. And what is this Simon like?” 

“He’s--” Kieren’s mobile suddenly went off in his pocket. He briefly considering ignoring it, but then thought that might be unfair, given his history of disappearing. 

He barely had a chance to take the call before Jem’s voice was shouting on the other line. “Kier-- Kieren, are you there?” 

“Yeah, Jem. What is it?” Her tone immediately put him on edge. God, what if something had happened to his parents? Was his mum okay? Was his dad?

“I don’t how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it,” Jem said quickly, talking so fast her words slurred together. 

“God, Jem, what? You’re going to drive me mad,” Kieren said, bringing a finger to his lips to chew on the fingernail. 

“Rick’s back,” Jem whispered. 

“What?” Kieren’s voice cracked over the single syllable. 

“Back, as in...” 

Kieren cut her off. “I know. I know what that means. I-- I’m with Amy right now. Do you..?”

“Know where he is?” Jem finished for him. She sighed deeply. “No, but last I saw him Bill was pulling up to Rick’s house in a military vehicle. Knowing Bill, he’s either got him locked up or they’ve gone to the pub to celebrate.”

“You saw him?” Kieren asked breathlessly, focusing on that and nothing else. 

“Yes,” Jem said quietly. 

“And he was...” 

“In one piece, yes.” 

Kieren drew in a sharp, involuntary breath. His fingers slackened on the phone and it dropped into his lap. “I’ll call you later,” he mumbled vacantly, not entirely sure she could even hear him any more. He snapped the phone shut mechanically and stared at the crease where the tacky wallpaper met the sealing. 

Jem had seen Rick in the flesh. That meant he was real. And alive - in a manner of speaking. Kieren couldn’t believe it. One moment his best friend was dead, and the next... He looked down at the pink scar that he’d shown Amy minutes ago. It looked irritated now, livid. Kieren swallowed past saliva that had collected like cement in his mouth. 

“I have to go, Amy.” 

Amy stood up from her chair and crouched in front of him, taking his face in her hands. “Is everything okay, Handsome?” 

“No,” Kieren said, then paused. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” 

Amy stared at him steadily, unjudging. “My best friend’s back from the dead,” he eventually croaked.

“Well,” Amy said matter-of-factly. “Two for two. Those are some incredible odds.” She leaned in to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a standing hug. After a few seconds, he numbly returned the embrace.

“Kieren Walker,” Amy pulled back and brushed Kieren’s shaggy bangs behind his ear. “Let’s go find him.”

-

They passed by the Macys’ home first, but the windows were dark. Jem was right. They were probably at the pub. Normally it was Kieren’s least favorite place in Roarton, but tonight he walked there with a kind of single-minded determination. There was nothing in his mind but the repeated mantra of _RickRickRick_ , in time with his footsteps and the pounding of his heart. He was going so fast that Amy put a hand on his arm at one point and asked him to slow down. He did, but only just. 

When he got within meters of the pub, he could already hear the raucous chatter that was drifting out from inside. The whole place was alight with activity and warmth, but Kieren still felt just as unwelcome as he always had standing in front of The Legion. 

“They all hate me in there,” Kieren said, suddenly feeling very small.

“Why?” Amy asked, looking like she couldn’t possibly fathom why someone wouldn’t like him.

Kieren gestured to himself and shrugged. “Look at me, Amy. I’m different. I’m not like them, and they know it. They never liked me, even... even before.” 

Amy’s face dissolved into understanding. “But you want to see this Rick, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kieren said firmly. He did. _God_ , did he want to. 

“Then come on. I’ll be right there with you.” 

Kieren nodded and they stepped up to the door together. Amy walked in first. The room fell dead silent. Kieren held his breath and surveyed the stunned onlookers who observed Amy like she was an alien, a contagious disease, and an awe-inspiring museum exhibit all in one. Amy took it all in stride, weaving confidently between tables until she got to the bar. Kieren followed meekly behind her. 

Pearl Pinder brusquely asked what she was having, and Amy unashamedly told them that she couldn’t drink. After a brief argument, Amy settled on buying a glass of lemonade just to avoid being kicked out. 

Rick was nowhere to be found, but Kieren didn’t have to look very hard for Bill, because he erupted out of his seat, snarling, as Pearl handed Amy her drink. “We serving rotters now?” 

Before a fight could break out, Philip Wilson appeared as if out of nowhere and told Amy that he’d have to escort her to a different area. She followed him, scoffing. Kieren got the impression that she only went along with him because she didn’t want to make things worse for Kieren. Kieren, chagrined, followed her to the segregated “PDS” section in the back, ready to tell Amy that they might as well leave, because it was clear that they had come to the wrong place.

Philip opened up the door to the separate section. Kieren froze. There, at the end of the short hallway, stood Rick. He wiped his blackened mouth off on his sleeve and looked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I've directly quoted from ITF canon in some places (like when Bill is talking to Rick), but I made some subtle changes in order to suit the plot. I know this isn't the happiest chapter ever! Sorry about that. Not everything can be fluff and kittens, as much as that would be nice. Things will get better. And Simon & Kieren will be reunited pretty soon, even if it doesn't seem that way. 
> 
> Idk if you guys remember Frankie? I wrote him into an earlier chapter when Simon was talking about his past. Everything Simon says about him can be found in chapter 5, if you want a quick refresher. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me this long!


	16. You Are the Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for drug & suicide mention. chapter title taken from a song by the Hush Sound.

Kieren didn’t have to look around to know that everyone was staring at them. The room was eerily silent. Dean and a few of the other regulars chatted quietly in the corner, occasionally darting furtive glances at Rick’s stitches when they thought he wouldn’t notice. But Kieren saw the way Rick tensed up everytime he felt eyes on his face. Rick must know what everyone was thinking, and it was probably taking every ounce of willpower he had to keep from shrinking under their gazes.

The only person who played at being oblivious was Bill, who knocked back drink after drink as he sat there, talking at Rick, trying to get a reaction out of him. Rick smiled and nodded along occasionally, laughing where laughter was due, nodding at all the right bits. 

The whole while, Rick was knocking back drinks like he was racing against the clock. Bill watched approvingly. Every time his son swallowed, Bill had a warm gleam in his eye, so Rick kept going. It unnerved Kieren. Sure, they had gotten pissed together more than a few times as teenagers, but never like this. There was a sort of desperation in the way that Rick gulped his drink down. It made Kieren’s chest ache. Finally, after two refills of his glass, Amy rolled her eyes and laid both of her hands flat on top of the table. 

“You know drinking makes you sick, right?” 

Rick set his glass down and tipped his chin up defiantly. “You a doctor?” 

“No, just got common sense.” Amy rolled her eyes. “Solids and liquids are toxic to people like us.” 

Kieren didn’t miss the way Bill’s fist clenched around his pint at the words ‘people like us.’ Rick was impressively calm to the untrained eye.

“I’m not like you,” Rick said simply. There wasn’t so much an undertone of hesitance in his voice as there was outright fear. His face stayed neutral, however. He pulled the act off well. Kieren hoped that was the end of it, but knew that it wasn’t when Amy’s brow quirked challengingly. 

“Yeah? When’s your stitching come out?” 

“That depends,” Rick answered a trifle too quickly. 

“On what?” 

Rick looked away, turning so that the side of his face with the stitching in it was hidden from view. He didn’t touch his glass for a long time. The conversation went on, but now he was completely removed from it. Kieren looked at him openly. He had just gotten his best mate back for good, and he didn’t care if Bill and all the rest of the world knew how grateful he was for it. In fact, he wanted them to know. It was about damn time. 

Amy sat silently beside him the rest of the night, holding his hand under the table. Every time Bill cut him a nasty look, the solidity of Amy’s fingers overtop his own grounded him. 

-

Kieren’s parents were sitting in the living room watching the weather channel when he got home. Sue looked up at his arrival, and Kieren could immediately see how tense she was. Her eyes were slightly red, too, like she’d rubbing them a lot or crying. 

“All right, Kier?” his dad asked, voice just on the edge of worried. 

“Yeah,” Kieren assured. He hung up his coat on the rack and shuffled over to the sofa. “I’m fine. Never been better.” 

“We, er--” Steve glanced sideways at Sue as if looking for her permission to continue. She shook her head once but Steve plowed on anyway. “We heard about Rick.” 

“Yeah, I just got back from the Legion. Rick was there with Bill to celebrate his homecoming.” Sue and Steve exchanged surprised glances. Kieren swallowed. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

Sue’s mouth turned down at the corners. A tiny crease appeared between her brow. “Of course. We just thought we’d wait for the right time.” 

Kieren threw his hands up, feeling an unbidden surge of rage swell up inside of him. It was the same feeling that had been rooted in his chest for over a year. The same feeling that nearly suffocated him when he’d first found out that Rick left for basic training. “The right time? And when exactly would that have been?” 

Sue sighed and reached out a hand to touch Kieren’s arm, but he flinched away from her. “Soon, love. We just wanted to be sure you were ready to hear it.” 

Kieren scoffed and turned his face away. He thought if he stayed there for one more minute looking at Steve and Sue’s apologetic faces, he’d explode. He headed for the stairs without another word. No one called out after him. 

-

Simon’s head was stuffed full of cotton. He was sure it was. What else could explain the way his head felt fit to burst? What else could explain the hazy dream-life glaze that had been clouding his vision since he had woken up? 

Simon propped himself up on his elbows and took a few minutes to wait for the room to stop spinning. He squinted, but he could only make out the indistinct outlines of familiar shapes. He recognized enough of it to realise that he was in his room. He breathed in and exhaled on a series of chest-wracking coughs. 

Simon startled at a knock on his door. He cleared his throat enough to croak, “Come in.” 

The door pushed open and his mother shuffled in with a steaming mug in her hands. She took one look at Simon and her face fell. She looked suddenly gaunt in the weak light spilling in from the hallway. 

Back when Simon was young, Eileen had been so radiant that people commonly mistook her for Simon’s sister rather than his mother. That had happened less often as Simon grew into adolescence, of course, but she still possessed an air of vivacity that hadn’t faded at all with age. Now, though, she was worn-out, haggard in a way that Simon had scarcely seen before. 

Eileen stepped fully inside, closing the door to his bedroom and switching on the bedside lamp. She set the mug down beside him and sat tentatively on the edge of his bed. Simon scooted over to give her more room, but she didn’t budge. 

Eileen remained silent for a long time. When Simon opened his mouth to speak, she finally turned her head up to look at him. Very slowly, so as not to spook him, she lifted one delicate hand and laid it upon his cheek. Simon breathed shallowly through his mouth and dared not move. 

“You came home late last night,” she said quietly. Her eyes were very sad. “Do you remember?” 

“Not really,” Simon admitted. His eyes shifted to study the wall next to his bed. It was plastered in posters and pictures, a map of his youth. “What happened?” he asked hoarsely. 

“You lost your keys, so your da had let you in,” Eileen told him. Her hand was cold and unyielding against his skin. “I woke up when he started yelling at you.” 

Simon nodded, biting back the hot press of tears that prickled behind his sinuses. He didn’t remember any of it, but he believed every word she said. “You were off your head, Simon. Plastered. You couldn’t even speak right. You were mumbling nonsense well into the night.” 

Simon’s forehead broke out in a light sheen of sweat. It was taking a great deal of effort not to completely break down. But his mother had already seen him in shambles once in the past 24 hours. He didn’t want to put her through that again. 

“What did you take?” Eileen asked urgently, voice dipping low. “Was it the heroin again? We can-- we can get you help for that. There are places you can go. It doesn’t...” Eileen’s fingers curled into her palm until her knuckles were white. “It doesn’t have to be like last time, Simon. Let us help you.” 

“Mum, it wasn’t--” Simon’s voice cracked over the first syllable. He paused to take a breath. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything of last night. I... I don’t...”

It was all wasted. All of those weeks spent sweating out the addiction. All of those nights sitting awake, clenching his hands into fists and telling himself over and over again that eventually the tremors would stop. All of the waking hours spent promising himself he’d never go back to the place where there seemed to be no other choice but to shoot up. He had betrayed himself again. But worse than that, he had betrayed his parents. And Kieren. 

“Oh, Simon.” Eileen’s hand fell limply into her lap. She crumpled like a wilted flower, then, bending until her forehead was anchored against Simon’s shoulder. “Why did you do it? You told me everything was okay again. You _promised_ me.” 

She was getting hysterical now. Simon could do nothing but rest his palm on her back and rub in a circular pattern. It didn’t calm her down. He only realised she was crying when he felt his shirt start to soak through. 

“Your da wants you to leave,” Eileen choked, voice muffled by fabric. “He says he doesn’t care how or where you go. He just wants you out. I’ve convinced him to cover at least half the cost of rehab, but that’s all he’ll budge.” 

“No,” Simon said hoarsely. “I won’t have you wasting all of that money on me. This is my mess. I’ll clean it up.”

“Alone?” Eileen pulled away from him. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. “That didn’t work out very well for you last time.” 

Simon winced at the sting of her words. Though they hurt, there was ultimately no denying their truth. “Not alone,” Simon said. “I’ll go somewhere. Stay with a friend.” That was a lie. He had nowhere left to go. What was the likelihood that he’d find somewhere to stay so late? 

Eileen’s eyes were glassy with disillusionment. Simon knew he couldn’t ask anything more of her tonight. Couldn’t ask her to trust him or to have hope that he would get better, because he didn’t know that for sure himself. Every time he relapsed the cost was greater than just losing the trust of everyone around him. All of the faith he had himself - and it was a meager amount to begin with - completely evaporated along with it. Whatever illusions of self-control Simon thought he had possessed were wholly shattered now. 

Simon gathered up all of his remaining dignity and gently pushed his mother’s hands away from him. “It’s okay, mum. I’ll pack my bags.” He glanced sideways at the clock, which read midnight. He’d slept away the whole day. “Go get some rest. It’s late. I’ll say goodbye before I leave.” 

“Simon,” Eileen said quietly. But she didn’t argue. Instead, with the same quiet dignity that Simon fooled himself into thinking he himself had, she stood up and left. He waited until her footsteps receded down the corridor, and then he began to pack. He didn’t have a lot. He hadn’t brought much with him, and he had no more than a passing attachment to the items of his childhood which were strewn about on every surface. In the short time he’d been here, he hadn’t seen fit to collect anything new. His bedroom was more of a memorial to whom he had been than who he was. And who he was right now was not someone he wanted to bring with him anyway. 

He packed a bundle of his favorite jumpers and at least three changes of trousers. The shoes on his feet, bulky with worn but sturdy rubber soles, would suffice. There was nothing else in his bag besides a couple of old paperbacks and the meager amount of money he’d stuffed under his mattress. Simon zipped up his duffel and surveyed his lonely room. Everything looked to be in order. 

On second thought - Simon sniffed the shirt he was wearing and instantly recoiled at the stale beer smell of it. He stripped it off and rummaged through his wardrobe until he found a dark green henley to slip on. He laid the old shirt on his bed and stared it as if it were going to grow a mouth a start talking. Where had he been last night? The last conscious memory he had was of following Frankie to a semi-abandoned building several blocks away from the playground. He’d followed him mostly out of shock and an obscurely misplaced sense of guilt, knowing he would regret it come morning. He was right. Frankie was nothing but bad news and had never been anything more. 

The shirt on his bed seemed to wilt under Simon’s accusatory stare, but it gave nothing away. Simon was about to call his inspection off when he noticed, if he squinted very hard, a tiny blue stain on the shirt collar. He leaned closer and saw that it was a faint blue streak that had been smeared into the fabric, likely a dry substance judging by the graininess of the stain. It almost looked like pixie dust. Something about it unnerved Simon, but he didn’t have time to worry. 

He glanced at the clock. His mother had left only ten minutes ago. He was sure she was still awake. He imagined her sitting on her bed, Iain snoring softly beside her, wondering quietly how she had managed to raise someone like Simon. 

Simon wanted to tell her that the way he had turned out didn’t define her as a mother. She was a lovely woman, and no amount of fucking up on his part could change that. Instead, he slipped out of his room and shuffled down the hall as silently as a phantom. It seemed arbitrary to say goodbye. Besides, what if Iain woke up? That was one conversation that Simon was not willing to have. And Eileen... she probably had no interest in seeing him off. 

But Simon knew his reluctance for what it really was: cowardice. Even after everything, he was a coward who didn’t want to look his mother in the eye before he left for probably the last time. He took the easy way out and scribbled a short note which he attached by magnet to the fridge: _Sorry for everything. Thank you. - Simon. ___

__He hesitated by the door jamb. Hanging out of the top of the closet in the foyer was a scratchy old woolen scarf that belonged to Eileen. She hadn’t worn it in decades, claiming it made her neck look too bulky and that its particular shade of green didn’t complement her skin tone. But Simon had always loved it on her. Before he could hesitate, he grabbed the end of the scarf and pulled it down from its high perch. Though it wasn’t really cold outside, he draped it around himself. It wouldn’t be missed, and neither would he, but it still felt good to bring a piece of his home with him._ _

__Simon closed the front door behind him and stepped out onto the weathered porch, the cool night air a balm on his live-wired skin. Now that he was out here, alone, it hit him: he had absolutely no idea where to go.  
-_ _

__Kieren had just managed to fall into a facsimile of sleep around two in the morning when he was roused by a series of knocks at his bedroom window. His first thought, as he dragged himself half-conscious out of bed, was _Rick_. He used to come around at night, sometimes planned and sometimes unannounced, and throw pebbles at Kieren’s window to wake him. Kieren would stay up for hours some nights, waiting for Rick. On those nights they would sneak out to the cave together or just roam around the outskirts of town, walking aimlessly. _ _

__Then a part of Kieren curdled at his next realisation: Rick was dead. The knocks at his window stuttered to a halt as soon as he thought it. The window shades were pulled down. Whoever it was had probably given up. Then another thought occurred to Kieren. Jesus, wait - Rick _wasn’t_ dead anymore, was he? Or he was, but... not _as_ dead. _ _

__Kieren tripped the rest of the way to his window and drew the shades up clumsily. Sure enough, standing in the small pool of light cast by his own torch, Rick stood there looking up at him. It could be any other night from the past five years or so. They could be fourteen or sixteen or eighteen. It could almost be any night, except for the way Rick’s stitches were illuminated by the torch light too, an undeniable reminder of what he was now._ _

__Kieren swallowed and held up two fingers. It was the signal that he’d be down in a minute. Rick nodded curtly, none of the roguishness that was usually in his face at times like these present now. Kieren let the shades fall back into place, pocketed his mobile, and swiftly slipped out of his room._ _

__The hallway was silent. Kieren tiptoed down the stairs and out the door without disturbing a soul. No need to leave a note. He would be back before anyone woke up in the morning._ _

__Rick was waiting for him in the same spot he had been standing, hands stuffed deeply into his pockets. Kieren’s heart suddenly picked up double-time at the sight of him. Looking at him from his bedroom window had almost felt like a dream. This was different. Up close Rick was solid and - if not warm - breathing and animated. It was the first time they were alone since he came back._ _

__Kieren lifted his hand in a tiny, aborted wave, immediately cursing himself for being so awkward. Rick wasn’t a stranger, so why did being around him feel like being around someone he hardly knew?_ _

__Rick lifted a hand in response, mouth quirking just slightly. “Hiya, Ren.”_ _

__With that, a little bit of the sick feeling in Kieren’s gut dissipated. He started off down the block with the sure knowledge that Rick would follow him._ _

__“Didn’t get a chance to talk to you before at the pub,” Rick said, falling into step with him._ _

__“You seemed a little preoccupied,” Kieren commented offhandedly. Rick raised his eyebrows and Kieren shrugged. “No worries. I know how it is with you and Bill.”_ _

__“How it is?” Rick asked incredulously. “Is this a guilt trip?”_ _

__“Not a guilt trip,” Kieren muttered. He stopped for a second and levelled a dark look at Rick. “But I do want an explanation.”_ _

__“For what?” Rick sputtered._ _

__“Why did you leave? More importantly, why did you leave without _saying anything_?”_ _

__“That’s rich coming from you,” Rick said, jaw tensing._ _

__“What’s the supposed to mean?” Kieren stopped in his tracks and perused their surroundings briefly. They were in an isolated enough corner of town. At any rate, there were no houses around, so they were free to be as loud as they pleased._ _

__“You-- you know what. My dad told me about what you did.” Rick’s eyes dropped to the floor. “What happened?”_ _

__Of course Bill had said something. He couldn’t believe he didn’t see this coming. Kieren fingered the raised scar on his wrist and felt a pulse of guilt course through him at the feeling. Quietly, he tried to explain the inexplicable: “When you died, everything turned to shit. Life didn’t mean anything any more.”_ _

__“So you tried to off yourself?” Rick scoffed, but his voice had cracked over a few syllables. He was fooling no one. Kieren huffed uncomfortably and looked away. “You shouldn’t have done that, Ren.” Rick ran his hand through his short hair, a nervous tic. “How could you do that? Had the whole world at your feet!”_ _

__“Did I?”_ _

__“You’d got into Art School! Full scholarship. You were out of here, mate. Flying high!”_ _

__“It didn’t matter much without you,” Kieren said. It sounded trite, but it was the full truth. He couldn’t safely imagine a world where Rick didn’t exist._ _

__“You can’t put this on me.” There was a note of pleading in Rick’s voice._ _

__“Can’t I?” Kieren asked, bristling. A part of him, though grateful for Rick’s return, thought he might never forgive the conditions under which he left. It was nothing short of abandonment in his eyes._ _

__“We’d already said goodbye.”_ _

__“That wasn’t a goodbye,” Kieren said shortly, no room for argument._ _

__“It was!” Rick snapped, throwing up his hands helplessly._ _

__“We drank a bottle of White Lightning, smoked a few fags, messed around, and then you said, ‘all right, see you tomorrow.’ Next thing I know, you’d gone to Preston for basic training. I didn’t hear nothing from you after that. Nothing!”_ _

__“I wanted to make it easier on you,” Rick said softly, devastatingly._ _

__“Easier on yourself, you mean? I wrote thousands of letters. Why didn’t you reply to me?” Kieren found he was unable to stem the bitterness in his voice. It was all or nothing._ _

__Rick flinched away from him. After a moment of processing, a haze of confusion passed over his face. “Didn’t get any letters,” he said. Kieren stared hard at him, skeptical and assessing. Rick squared his shoulders defensively. “I didn’t!” I thought you’d just forgotten about me.”_ _

__Rick bit his cheek afterwards as though he’d revealed too much or spoken out of turn. The fleeting glimpse of raw terror on his face softened Kieren. He sighed and let the angry tension bleed out of him. “How could I forget about you?”_ _

__“Well, you were going away. New place. New people.” Rick looked very, very small. Kieren first felt pity, but he hated the way it tasted on his tongue, so he let the anger from before rush back to him. How could Rick have been so stupid?_ _

__“No, that’s what you did, Rick. That’s exactly what you did! Not me. I kept us going. In my head, I kept us alive.” It felt stupid to say out loud, but when you lose a person for good and then miraculously get them back, it’s sort of a no-holds-barred situation._ _

__Rick opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then completely crumpled under Kieren’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing out hard and fast. “I’m... I should have told you. I know I should have done, but I got scared, Ren. I thought it would be better if I just left. I thought...”_ _

__“You were wrong,” Kieren said softly. “But I was wrong, too. For doing what I did to myself. I know that now.”_ _

__“I’m angry at you,” Rick said suddenly, as if realising it for the first time. “You could have ended up like me.” His voice cracked over the last syllable, and Kieren flinched. “I never knew you to be so reckless.”_ _

__“That’s more your style, yeah?” Kieren goaded._ _

__Rick rolled his eyes and shoved him. It was a light shove, barely enough to sway Kieren at all, but they both sobered at the touch. They hadn’t made skin-to-skin contact for longer than a moment since they had seen each other this evening, and suddenly they were both aware of the scant inches of space between them. Here, without prying eyes, it was very difficult for Kieren to keep himself in check._ _

__So he didn’t. Slowly, very carefully, he raised his hand halfway between his body and Rick’s face. Rick stilled and Kieren swallowed, pausing. “Can I?”_ _

__Rick gave a quick, barely there nod, and Kieren’s hand continue its pursuit. Rick’s cheek was cold against Kieren’s clammy palm. They had never asked permission to touch each other before. Whatever happened between them happened, with the unarticulated caveat that they wouldn’t discuss it openly at any point in the near future. But now that it was technically the future, everything felt strange and different._ _

__Rick’s skin had been surprisingly good as a teenager, something that Kieren always quietly envied him for. There had never been more than a couple of marks on him, even in the most awkward of his teenage years. Kieren wondered what his fifteen-year old self would think of the jagged scar bisecting Rick’s previously unmarred cheek and forehead._ _

__Rick closed his eyes at the contact, leaning just slightly into Kieren’s hand. Kieren couldn’t help it; he curiously traced the pink scar with tentative sweeps of his fingertips. “Does it hurt?”_ _

__Rick shook his head. “Can’t really feel it. Just some pressure.”_ _

__Kieren pressed his fingers harder into the scar and watched as the stitches pulled taut around the edges of the wound. “You feel that?”_ _

__Rick shrugged noncommittally. “A little.” He sounded unsure._ _

__Kieren stepped further into Rick’s personal space and laid his other hand upon Rick’s tensed bicep. Slowly, he moved his hand up Rick’s arm and across his shoulder until it came to rest at the back of his neck. There, he rubbed the base of Rick’s spine with his thumb, flinching just slightly when his fingertip came in contact with the broken skin where Kieren guessed that Cure-All-Dead serum was being injected. Rick shivered beneath him, as if he knew what Kieren was thinking. Instead of covering up his neck and backing away like Kieren expected - like he would have if he were alive - Rick dropped his head and exposed his neck even further._ _

__Kieren took this as permission to pull Rick closer to him, and Rick went willingly, shuffling forward until his forehead was pressed into Kieren’s bony shoulder._ _

__“I missed you,” Rick choked, voice muffled by Kieren’s shirt. “Soon as I came to, I was wondering about you. My first nurse asked me who ‘Ren’ was. Told me I was saying your name before I even knew my own.”_ _

__Kieren felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. Christ. His hand on Rick’s neck became a searing vise. He wasn’t prepared to let go anytime soon._ _

__“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Kieren said. Then, smirking faintly, “I should’ve known you’d be too stubborn to stay dead.”_ _

__Rick coughed a watery laugh into his shoulder and wrapped both of his arms around Kieren at once, pulling him in for a tight embrace. It said everything they hadn’t yet gathered the courage to say to one another and maybe never would: _I love you. You mean everything to me. I’m not going to leave again.__ _

__The sun was rising behind Rick’s head when they pulled apart. His face was haloed in a glow of soft morning light, features lined thinly with gold. Kieren found it temporarily difficult to breathe. Then Rick blinked and moment was gone. His face shuttered; whatever had been exposed and vulnerable in him moments ago evaporated. Unconsciously, Rick lifted his hand and ghosted it across the stitching on his face. Then he dropped his hand and turned away to face the horizon._ _

__“I better go. My dad’ll be awake soon,” Rick said absently. His fists clenched subtly at his sides. “See you around, Ren.”_ _

__Kieren watched as Rick ambled down the block in the opposite direction they had come. The looming sunrise dwarfed him. He was out of sight in minutes. Kieren walked back home with a sick feeling in his stomach. There was only one person he know who could pull him out of that._ _

__-_ _

__“Can you come back?”_ _

__Simon was standing at a literal crossroads when he heard those words filter in through the staticky receiver of his mobile. It was dawn, and everything was quiet except for the faraway sound of bird song. He took a breath, held it in his lungs, and exhaled for as long as possible. It was too convenient. How was it that fate conspired to have a beautiful boy ask him home on the very same night he was kicked out?_ _

__Simon knew what he should do. He knew it was prudent of him to say no and put as much distance between him and Kieren as possible. If he saw him, there was no way Simon would be able to keep his relapse a secret. He couldn’t imagine having the strength to leave a second time. But Simon also knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was to start running and not stop until he was standing in front of the Walkers’ house._ _

__Simon almost laughed at the irony of it. He never thought he’d be running _to_ a place like Roarton. After all, his youth was spent running away from small towns. He had always been seeking out the next thrill, the next big city that could hold his attention for more than a week. _ _

__And then there was Roarton, which had ensnared him as if by accident. Or maybe it wasn’t so much Roarton as it was the people living in it._ _

__“I need you here,” Kieren continued after a long pause. “I know it’s selfish of me to ask, but something’s happened, and I don’t know if I can handle it on my own.”_ _

__“I’ll be there by late afternoon,” Simon promised. It had taken no effort to agree. He knew what he wanted and no amount of fooling himself would change that. Look what distance had already done to him. He had been fine before he left._ _

__Kieren thanked him quietly and hung up. Simon hitched his duffel bag onto one shoulder and caught the next train to Roarton._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me a while to update; I've been sitting on this chapter for a while, wondering whether or not to post it. I know I've been losing some of you along the way, what with the very slow build and introduction of a few original characters, so I just want to take the time to thank everyone who has stuck with me so far and every one who is new to this story. If you've gotten to this point, thank you. 
> 
> I'm already in the process of writing the next chapter. The plot should pick up soon. Lots of stuff happening, more people coming back, etc. A lot of this chapter's dialogue is also directly quoted from the actual show w/ subtle changes to suit my plot. This is only done when I feel it's necessary. 
> 
> Also, if anyone wants to do me a really quick favor: tell me how you feel about Rick. Doesn't have to be a thorough character analysis (it could be if you want). You can just shoot me a quick line about what you think of him. Comment or message me @ excaliburcas.tumblr.com
> 
> P.S. Head's up. There's a good chance that this fic will be advancing to an E rating soon.


	17. Homecoming

_He couldn’t breathe. There was something around his throat. He hadn’t looked down, but there was no need; he felt the pressure tighten around his neck, felt his pulse shudder under the harsh press of it. At first the feeling was dull, vague - but it soon manifested into a physical form. The pressure became the fingers of a hand that were wrapped around his throat._

_He had once heard that drowning is the worst way to die. Not just because of the asphyxiation; at some point, you reflexively open your mouth to take a breath and end up swallowing water. This was inevitable. The water came all at once then, like a tidal wave, forcing its way down your throat, snaking into your lungs, trickling into your nose and ears until every inch of you was full of it._

_That fullness, that internal drowning, was the worst way to live your last conscious seconds. Or at least that’s what he’d heard._

_This was like that, like drowning, only he knew he wasn’t underwater. But the darkness was its own kind of water. It was thick and dense and if he opened his mouth to take a breath it slithered down his throat in coiling tendrils._

_The body was not very skilled at mediating in these situations. The lungs were not rational. They didn’t know that to stay calm and conserve air was the wiser path; they knew only survival and the immediacy of their innate needs._

_So he drank the darkness because he had no choice. Because his body demanded it and he was helpless but to answer or die trying. He drank the hypoxic darkness and felt his insides curdle with every swallow._

_His whole being thrummed with lack. It tore him apart, separated flesh and muscle from bone until he was reduced to nothing but a gaping maw that sucked up more of its surroundings with each inhalation._

-

Sue was the one to let Simon in when he eventually came. She was surprised to see him, but she let none of that show on her face when she opened the door to find him standing there. He was ashen and clearly exhausted, but he smiled when he saw her. Sue opened the door more widely and beckoned him inside.

“Simon,” she said warmly. “Lovely to see you. Bit of a surprise, though.”

Simon ducked his head in greeting. “Hello, Sue. It’s good to see you too. Kieren didn’t tell you I was coming?”

“Oh no, he’s been asleep all morning. Had a late one, I think.”

“Oh.” Simon idly twisted the tassels at the end of his mother’s old scarf. “He rang me around dawn and asked me to come back here.”

“And you just dropped everything and caught the next train?” Sue asked lightly, smile tugging at her lips.

“Yes.” Simon smiled back nervously. Sue squinted. His eyes were lucid enough, but they weren’t exactly clear. He couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. She cleared her throat.

“Well, he’ll be happy to see you. You’re welcome to go wake him if you like. It’s getting late, anyway.”

“Right. I’ll do that.” Simon turned to go, but not before Sue stopped him with with a hand on his forearm.

“You should set your bag down, love.”

Simon’s grip immediately went slack and the duffel fell to the floor. He swallowed, nodded at her in thanks, and started for the stairs.

-

Simon knocked on Kieren’s door a total of five times with no answer before he decided to let himself in. Though certainly not a morning person, it was unusual for Kieren to sleep this late, especially if he expected Simon to be here.

The room was almost completely dark when he stepped inside. The shades were drawn, and only faint lines of light slanted over the bedroom floor. Simon could just barely make out the vague outline of Kieren sitting up in the bed.

“Kieren?” Simon closed the door behind him because he knew it annoyed Kieren to have his bedroom door left ajar. “Sorry, it took me longer to get here than I expe--”

Simon walked further into the room and stopped in his tracks. In the faint light, if he squinted, he could make out the details of Kieren’s face.

Kieren was sitting upright in bed as though he were awake, but his eyes were closed. His breathing was of someone in a deep sleep. Come to think of it, it was more than that. It sounded labored, almost, as though he were sucking air in through a straw. Something wasn’t right.

Simon climbed atop the bed to kneel in front of Kieren. He held his shoulders with both hands and shook him gently at first. When this elicited absolutely no response, Simon shook him harder, until he himself was jarred by the force of his movements. Kieren’s body flopped like a ragdoll beneath his hands.

“Kieren!” Simon sucked in a shuddering breath to calm himself. It was probably just another nightmare. That was all. “Kieren, open your eyes. Look at me.”

Kieren’s face remained impassive. All of the colour had drained from him. He was still breathing, though faintly. Simon checked for a pulse and felt it beating steadily beneath his fingers. He let out a breath at that, head dropping to rest against Kieren’s shoulder. He just wasn’t waking up. Why wasn’t he waking up? Was he sick? Should he call for Sue? Why wasn’t he--

“Simon?”

Simon’s eyes snapped open. He pulled his face away and looked at Kieren, who was now blinking at him as though he’d been awake for some time now. “What’s wrong?” Kieren asked guilelessly.

“What’s _wrong_?” It took an incredible amount of restraint to keep from letting loose a burst of nervous laughter. Simon raked a hand through his greasy hair and sat back on his haunches. “You’re pale as a ghost, and you weren’t breathing right when I came in. I couldn’t wake you up at first.”

“Wake me up? I--” Kieren’s eyes flickered briefly to the mirror perched on his dresser. He studied himself for a moment, swallowed, and then looked back to Simon. “When did you get here? What time is it?”

“Ten minutes ago. It’s almost four.”

Kieren looked surprised. He twisted to turn the bedside lamp on and then sat there for a moment with his hands in his lap, ostensibly at a loss for words. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I was up most of the night with...” Kieren swallowed again, as though his throat were dry. “I’m sorry I called you back. It seems stupid now that I’ve rested.”

“What is it, Kieren?” Whatever it was, Simon wanted to be here to see him through it.

“Rick’s back,” Kieren croaked. His head dropped like someone had cut the strings holding him up. Simon took a deep breath and schooled his face into a neutral expression.

“Okay. It’s okay.” He tentatively wrapped his arms around Kieren’s shoulder and was relieved when Kieren slumped, melting into him. “I’m here. We’ll deal with it together.”

“Yeah?” Kieren’s eyes were bloodshot.

“Of course.”

-

They went for breakfast because Sue had made porridge hours ago, but Steve and Jem finished all of it long before Kieren woke up. There weren’t many places to eat out in Roarton - it wasn’t exactly a tourist destination - but Kieren knew of a cafe on the edge of town that served something decent and hot at this hour.

The small establishment had lace trim curtains hanging in the windows and neatly checkered table cloths. The place was relatively empty, with only a faint smattering of patrons sipping from steaming cups by the bar. Kieren took it upon himself to slip into a two-seater booth and Simon sat down across from him, folding his hands.

Kieren picked up the menu and gestured to the other one, but Simon just shrugged. “I’m not very hungry.”

Kieren raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Simon _looked_ hungry, but he supposed that didn’t mean much. A waitress soon came to take their order.

“I’ll have the full breakfast. Extra bacon and mushrooms on the side, please.”

The waitress, a young girl who looked between Simon and Kieren with something akin to warmth in her eyes, nodded politely and jotted down the order. Then she turned to Simon. “And for you?”

“Nothing, thanks.” Kieren cut him a strange look and Simon found himself clearing his throat and stopping the waitress before she could turn away. “Actually, I’ll, er--” Simon glanced down at his unopened menu. “I’ll just have some tea. Whichever kind you have on special.”

The waitress smiled, made a note on her pad, and headed for the kitchen.

“All right?” Kieren asked, studying Simon with an unnervingly astute gaze.

“I’m fine,” Simon said. “Just tired.”

“You look it,” Kieren said, a note of mirth in his voice. Simon’s mouth quirked in the barest of smiles. Kieren cleared his throat and studied the pattern on the tablecloth. “So, I’ve been meaning to apologise again. I know it was daft of me to suddenly demand that you come back. And I realise now that you had every right to leave, if that was what you wanted. You don’t even have to stay. I would like you to meet Rick and Amy, though. And--”

“Kieren.” Kieren stopped rambling abruptly and lowered his eyes again, briefly cowed. “I’m not going back.”

That got Kieren to look up. “What?”

“I’m not going back,” Simon repeated flatly. His folded hands were clasped together so tightly that his knuckles were beginning to show their whites. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But I thought...” Kieren shook his head as if to derail his own train of thought. “Why?”

“I’ve been kicked out, and I’ve nowhere to go. Rent is cheaper here than it is back home, and I don’t know anyone in any other place. So I’m staying.”

“Kicked out?” Kieren echoed. He blinked a few times and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Simon... Kicked out how? Kicked out like those other times you were kicked out?”

“Yes,” Simon admitted quietly. No sense in hiding it. Not when Kieren looked at him the way he did - like he was good, somehow. Like he was worthy of something.

“When?” Kieren asked, chewing on bottom lip. Simon could see very clearly that the question he truly wanted to ask was ‘why?’. Simon was glad he hadn’t, because he didn’t have an answer to that.

“Just the other night. I came home so fucked up I couldn’t even unlock the door, apparently.”

“Do you... do you know what you took?”

“No.” Simon shuddered at the memory of how he’d felt when he woke up. “But I don’t think it was heroin. I’ve never felt so strange after coming down. It was like there was a veil over everything that I saw or felt. It’s only started to fade in the past few hours.”

“Were you safe?” Kieren asked. He was staring openly at Simon now, like maybe if he looked long enough he would develop x-ray vision and be able to see inside Simon to ascertain if he was hurt.

Simon paused. He wasn’t sure exactly what Kieren was asking or what kind of answer he was expecting. Doing any kind of hard drugs, especially the kind that left Simon with a huge chunk of his memory missing, didn’t exactly constitute a ‘safe’ experience.

“I wish I could tell you that,” Simon said honestly. “I don’t know myself. But you should know that I... I was with Frankie before it happened. I met him by chance at an playground that I used to spend time in, and he was-- dead. We got to talking and he asked for a chance to ‘explain himself’. I went along with him because I felt guilty. I don’t remember much beyond that.”

“Frankie as in your ex?” Kieren asked, eyes darkening. He looked like he already knew the answer to that question.

“Yes.”

Before Kieren had a chance to say anything more, the waitress came back with Simon’s tea and a huge plate of food. She set the food down before Kieren and smiled sweetly at the both of them. “Enjoy.”

“Ta,” Kieren said absently, not taking his eyes off of Simon. The waitress seemed to sense the tension in the air; she left a few seconds later without a word. Kieren picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of egg with it, and brought it halfway to his mouth before he stopped and made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.

“I’m going to say this once,” he said calmly, setting down the fork. “I know I don’t have any claim over you, Simon. And I don’t expect to. It’s not my place to police your actions.” Simon nodded his agreement, waiting for the catch. “That said, what you did was incredibly stupid and irresponsible and I literally cannot stress how--” Kieren cut himself off, eyes straying to the side suddenly.

If he said anything else he would give away how vastly unprepared he was to have this conversation. In fact, he would more likely give away that he was completely terrified. Terrified of what could have happened, terrified of what could _still_ happen, and terrified about the fact that Simon’s admission didn’t make Kieren feel any differently about him at all.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Simon said, intuiting the source of Kieren’s distress. “I know it was stupid. I don’t intend to stage a repeat.”

“Good,” Kieren said, exhaling. He closed his eyes for a moment and centered himself. When he opened them, Simon was sipping from his tea and stealing semi-covert glances at the food. Kieren rolled his eyes and nudged his plate towards the center of the table. “Now eat.” Simon opened his mouth to demur but Kieren cut him off with a sharp glance. “And don’t protest. I see you eyeing my mushrooms. I got extra for a reason.”

Simon picked up his fork.

-

Kieren and Simon spent an hour at the cafe eating and talking. Their conversation wasn’t so much idle as it was relaxed, aimless. There wasn’t a goal or purpose to it; neither of them had an agenda. It was just simple chatter, and it came more freely than any conversation Kieren had had for years. The last time he could remember talking to someone so openly was with Rick in their cave many years ago, before either of them was really old enough to understand the boundaries and formalities so heavily ingrained in everyday speech. Back then they said to each other whatever came to mind. Whatever the they were feeling was expressed in plain terms, take it or leave it. More often than not, they had chosen to leave it.

But there were times when they hadn’t just left it, and secrets - bits and pieces of each other that they would bare to no one else - were exchanged between one another. That was the reason Kieren would swear that Rick probably knew him better than any person on earth, second only to Jem.

“Kieren?” They had taken a detour on the way home and were walking down a relatively empty street on the outskirts of town near the train station. Kieren hadn’t said anything in a while.

“Just thinking,” Kieren responded distantly. “I still want you to meet Rick.”

“Will we see him today?” Simon’s expression was entirely inscrutable. He didn’t look particularly bothered either way, but there was something loaded in his gaze.

“If he can manage to get away from Bill for a while.”

Simon nodded thoughtfully. “Bill’s still got him on a tight leash, then?”

“You have no idea.” Kieren kicked idly at a pebble in the road. “When I first heard he was back, I thought it’d be different this time around.”

“You thought he’d be more independent?”

“I thought he’d be able to accept himself. But seeing him at the pub yesterday, I don’t think he’s anywhere close to acceptance.” Kieren hesitated then, unsure if this was something he should be sharing with Simon. Then he thought of Simon’s face earlier as he told him about relapsing and his resolve broke. “Sexuality is... easier to ignore, or at the very least conceal. I would know. But what he is now-- he can’t hide that. I thought that would change things. Make him braver.”

To Kieren’s surprise, Simon stopped walking and sighed. “Brave? Kieren, he’s just a kid.”

“That’s an excuse?” Kieren countered.

Simon raised an eyebrow and Kieren bristled, unused to being challenged by him. “Isn’t it? You’ve had the past few years to grow up. He’s been dead that whole time.”

“You don’t know him. You don’t know how far he went to please his dad when he was alive.”

Simon raised his hands in a placating gesture. “You’re right, I don’t know him,” he said. “But I do know what kind of person Bill is. He’s abusive. Imagine being raised in that kind of household. Imagine what it would do to you.”

“What do you know about abusive relationships?”

Simon immediately thought of Frankie, saw his mouth shaping words that had felt like lye on his skin, felt the phantom pressure of Frankie pressing a syringe into his palm. He levelled Kieren with a flat look and said, “I know enough.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Kieren grimaced and closed his eyes, but Simon set a hand upon his shoulder reassuringly.

“I know.”

Kieren looked at him, still apologetic, but Simon couldn’t find it within himself to be upset at him. Kieren was older now, but there was still a part of him that was so like the scared boy that had been bleeding out all over Simon’s lap that first night in the cave. And there was still a part of Simon that was just as vulnerable and callow, but he had grown thicker skin over those parts and had callouses to show for it.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Kieren said after a long moment of silence.

“I’m glad to be here.” Simon spread his palms and took a long, deep drink of the late afternoon air. It was crisp and almost sweet on his tongue. There was something about Roarton, he thought. He couldn’t pinpoint it. But there was _something_.

Simon glanced to his right and was surprised to find that Kieren was no longer walking alongside him. He had stopped a few yards back and was staring at Simon intently, jaw slackened. Simon backtracked a few steps until he was standing in front of Kieren. He began to ask him if something was wrong, but the words got lost in the abrupt press of Kieren’s mouth to his own.

It was the chastest kiss they had ever shared, but there was also something keenly hungry underlying it. Simon lit up inside at that. They shared several small kisses, one after the other. Kieren pulled back a few millimeters with each time, leaving just enough time between one touch of their lips and the next that Simon felt himself anticipating each kiss like it was a fix.

He was dimly aware of Kieren’s hands cupping the back of his head, and of his own fingers, having found their way to Kieren’s slim waist, rubbing semi-circles into his hipbones. His thumbs dipped below the waistband of his trousers and Kieren shivered just slightly, then pulled away.

“Was that okay?” Simon asked, close enough that his breath warmed the tip of Kieren’s nose. Kieren smirked faintly.

“I was the one who kissed _you_.”

“I didn’t want to get too...” Simon gestured vaguely with his hands, figuring Kieren would know what he meant. _Intense._ It had been getting intense, and they were out in the open now, and Simon hadn’t seen Kieren in a little over three months; he didn’t want to move too fast. Simon wasn’t even sure where their relationship stood, come to think of it.

“Couldn’t help it,” Kieren said breezily, though Simon was sure he was blushing. “I missed you.”

Simon wound his arms around Kieren’s torso ducked his head lower until his face fit into the crook of his neck, where he echoed the same sentiment into Kieren’s soft skin. Simon tilted his head so that his nose was buried in Kieren’s golden hair. It smelled of cherry blossom ginseng. He’d stolen Jem’s shampoo again. Simon breathed it in deeply, hoping to keep the scent with him for a while. It reminded him of home.

-

They walked home hand in hand. Kieren was talking about finding a place for Simon to stay (because he had steadfastly refused to take up space at the Walker’s again), but Simon was only half-listening. He was thinking of the way Kieren’s skin felt against his and how undeserving he was of it. He hadn’t even deserved this when he first met Kieren, and he especially didn’t now when hardly a day had passed since he last used.

“...and my dad said that some man at work called Geoff knew of a cheap flat for rent. I’m not sure if the property is still vacant, but I can ask when we get--” Kieren’s voice abruptly cut off. The sudden silence prompted Simon to snap out of his own thoughts. Awareness of his surroundings slowly flooded back to him. They had made it back to Lee’s Cul-de-sac, and there was a man knocking on the front door of the Walker house. “--home,” Kieren finished hoarsely.

No one answered the door. The man turned around just then and saw Simon and Kieren approaching. Simon squinted until his indistinct features came into focus. Kieren dropped his hand a half-second before Simon realised who he was looking at. His entire body went cold. Gary Kendal’s sunken eyes were staring back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response I got from the last chapter was honestly overwhelming in the best way possible. I want to just take a moment to express my sincere gratitude for every single person who has ever left a comment on this fic or even took the time to read it at all. I never get tired of reading what you guys have to say - seriously. 
> 
> This chapter was mostly just siren fluff, and I'm not sorry about that. I'm already 3/4 of the way through the next chapter (in which things other than kisses actually happen), so that should be up sooner rather than later.
> 
> As always, you can also contact me @ excaliburcas.tumblr.com. All headcanons are welcome. I may also start posting little status updates about this fic. Like, I'll let you know when I'm halfway through or if there's a delay and when I might be posting the next chapter. If that sounds like something that anyone would be interested in, please let me know!! Love you all. <3


	18. Identity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> briefly NSFW

Roarton used to have a smell to it. It wasn’t just the sweetness of the country air or the dampness of the foliage from the forest that flanked the town. It was a smell that couldn’t be described and was very rarely perceived, except by long-time residents who left on a trip and then returned home some time later.

Gary had only left Roarton once in his life for a Great Aunt’s funeral, and when he came back, he had been utterly taken off guard by the way the air smelled. That was all he remembered of his homecoming. A weird smell in the air - dry and somehow cloying on the back of his tongue, like incense that had long since burnt out but left a sticky residue. He couldn’t smell anything anymore, least of all the scent of home; that was almost a small comfort as much as it was a devastation.

Gary ambled his way back into Roarton with nothing but the clothes on his back - the clothes he had been told he died in, as a matter of fact. They were grimy with grave dirt and stunk faintly of chemicals, but they were the last thing connecting him to his death besides the poorly sutured gash in his head.

Roarton was mostly the same if not a little more barren. The streets were empty except for a few faces he half-recognised, all of whom side-eyed him disdainfully as he loped past. The townspeople had never looked at him with love, and they certainly didn’t now.

But Gary didn’t care so much about what the people thought of him; he could only afford to focus on one thing: shelter. The locks on his flat had been changed. When he knocked on the door to his old place, a middle-aged woman with an infant cradled in her arms answered. She looked sweet enough, but as soon as she saw the cover up smeared in sloppy streaks on his cheeks and forehead, her expression turned to one of absolute disdain. He opened his mouth to make a plea for himself, but she hurriedly shut the door in his face. He stood there numbly for a minute and listened to the sound of the young mother frantically double-locking her door from the other side.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned away. There was a folded piece of paper in his left pocket that seemed to be burning a hole through the fabric of his trousers. Without looking at it, Gary knew exactly what it said. It was the name and website address of someone called the “Undead Prophet.” His roommate Alex had given it to him at treatment facility before going mental and biting one of the nurses. Gary wasn’t been particularly surprised or even upset - Alex had been expressing his anger at the living for weeks at that point, and Gary mostly agreed with him. But he wasn’t as stupid as Alex - he wanted to go home. He didn’t want to be locked back into the cells underneath the treatment facility, where they chained you to the wall until you had enough neurotriptyline in your system to act suitably human.

The last thing Alex had told him before snorting that blue shit was that Gary always had a place with the Undead Prophet if he needed one. But Gary didn’t want to end up at some commune with a bunch of undead freaks singing kumbaya around a campfire that they couldn’t even feel the warmth of. No, his place was in Roarton and always had been, and he was going to reclaim it by force if necessary.

Adrift, Gary went to the only other place that he frequently called home when he was alive. The Legion looked the same as it always had. Gary steeled himself and walked inside as casually as possible. No one stirred from their conversations. The military didn’t rush in suddenly to chain him up. Hellfire didn’t rain from the Heavens to strike him down. He exhaled in relief.

There was no one here who he had been particularly acquainted with in life, so no one immediately recognised him. The only person here who knew him well enough to put a name to his face was Pearl Pinder, and she was at the bar organising her stock by brand and year. She was a reasonable enough woman. Surely she would at least talk to him.

Gary shuffled over to the bar and sat at one of the stools, waiting for Pearl to notice him. Eventually she unfolded out of her crouch and turned to face the bar. Her eyes skipped over him on her first perusal, but Gary coughed conspicuously and her gaze snapped back to him immediately.

She did a double-take at first glance and then visibly collected herself. “Gary! Should’ve known you’d be back.”

“Miss me?” Gary mustered his most charming smile. Pearl’s eyes scanned over his face, likely noting each bluish-green vein that showed through the thick cake of his makeup. She leaned close so that her voice wouldn’t carry.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh, come on, Pearl,” Gary wheedled. “Don’t be like that. I’m your best customer.”

“ _Was_. Was my best customer, Gary. I can’t serve you anymore.”

“What do you mean you can’t serve me?” Gary asked, prickling in annoyance.

“You can’t drink!” Pearl exclaimed. A few heads turned. She began to wipe down the countertop with an old rag, refusing to meet Gary’s eyes. “Being here won’t do you any good and it won’t do my business any favors either. Not to mention my customers aren’t comfortable having... PDS blokes around.”

“So yer just gonna put me out?” Pearl didn’t answer. Gary resisted the urge to slam his hand against the table in his frustration, but just barely. He wrangled his voice into something approaching polite and tried again: “I need a place to stay, Pearl.”

“I can’t help you,” Pearl said firmly. “You should leave before someone notices you.”

“Please.” Gary hated the way the word sounded on his tongue. “It’s the least you could do for a mate.”

Pearl sighed and tucked a few stray pieces of hair into her bun. “We were never friendly, Gary.” She raised her hand to cut Gary off before he could protest. “I just served you whiskey and put up with your drunken rants.”

“I’ll take my business elsewhere, then.” Gary shoved away from the bar hard enough that his stool rattled.

He must have looked suitably pathetic, because Pearl called out to him before he could get more than a few feet away. “Wait. I can’t help you myself, but I know of someone who might do.” Gary nodded encouragingly and Pearl set her hands on her hips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Promise I’ll be good,” Gary said, hand over his heart.

“Word around here is that there is one family who are known PDS sympathisers.”

“Yeah?” he asked. He was barely managing a civil disposition. ‘PDS’. His skin crawled at the word. He hated being labelled as something so flippantly. He didn’t deserve to be reduced to an acronym. Wasn’t there more to him? Wasn’t he a person first, above all?

“The Walkers. Kieren Walker in particular.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening and lowered her voice. “He’s even friends with one.”

 _Kieren Walker._ Something cold passed from the base of Gary’s broken skull to his tailbone.

-

Simon tried to hold him back, but Kieren lurched forward with all of the strength in his slim body and shook him loose. Gary was standing there with his hands limp at his sides, posture unaggressive and open. That was a good sign.

When Kieren got close enough to see him clearly, a strange look passed over fleetingly over Gary’s features. His thick eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but he said nothing.

“You’re back,” Kieren said flatly. Best not to act too friendly or too stand-offish. Stick to middleground, Kieren reminded himself. Middleground was always safe.

Gary spread his arms out. “Got rejected at the pearly gates, so they sent me back down.”

Kieren forced a laugh and wiped his clammy palms on his trousers. He heard Simon approaching from his left and relaxed some. He took a breath. Simon looked at him and Kieren shook his head imperceptibly. Gary didn’t seem to remember anything.

“Er, yeah. So what exactly are you doing here?” Kieren asked neutrally.

“Thought you could help me out,” Gary said, shuffling his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. “Pearl told me you were... sympathetic.”

“What?”

Gary grunted frustratedly. “I’ve got no place to stay and I’m flat broke. No one here wants to rent to a dead man.” Gary squinted at him. “But I _heard_ that you Walkers don’t feel the same way as the rest of this town.”

“I can’t speak for my family, but if you’re asking if I want to slaughter PDS sufferers like everyone else, the answer is ‘no.’” Kieren shrugged. “I want to help out in any way I can. But that doesn’t mean I have a solution to your problem. I still live at home myself, Gary. I don’t have the means to find you a place to stay.”

“What about yer dad?”

“What about him?”

“Steve works with plenty of homeowners and landlords, I reckon. One of them has to know of some place, and with a recommendation...”

Kieren swallowed. Gary was asking for a lot. If he had come to Kieren with his some problem before he died, he would have flat out refused and walked away without a single qualm. Gary was a drunken arsehole who didn’t do anyone much good - especially not people like Kieren. But everything was different, and he _had_ died, and it was Kieren’s fault. He wasn’t absolved of murder just because Gary had come back. It didn’t work that way. Kieren had taken something that needed to be repaid.

“Let me talk to him when he gets back from work. I’ll phone tomorrow.”

Gary nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it. Do you have a place to stay for the night?”

Gary shrugged, which meant no. Kieren wasn’t sure where to go from there. His willingness to help Gary only extended so far, and he wasn’t going to offer him a place in his house. Besides how uncomfortable he was with the idea, his parents likely didn’t want a strange man around their teenage daughter.

“I know of a shelter you can stay tonight. It’s not too far from here. If I can borrow a car, I’ll drive you there,” Simon said. Kieren stared at him incredulously, but he was entirely stoic, expression unreadable.

“Thanks, mate.” Gary was almost smiling now. He stuck his hand out and Simon shook it once, hard. Gary winced a little as he pulled away.

“It’s Simon. And I’m not doing it for you.”

Gary’s eyes darted between Kieren and Simon, and for a moment he looked like he wanted to say something. Kieren could visibly see him weigh his options and decide to keep his mouth shut. It was probably for the best. “Do I know you?” Gary asked instead. “You look familiar.”

“We met once before the Rising,” Simon said quickly. “I was the drug addict in the black jumper.”

Gary laughed nervously, looking unsure if that was meant to be a joke. Kieren snorted. Simon’s sense of humour was what one might describe as ‘off-beat’. Kieren thought it was endearing.

“I’ll ask my mum about the car,” Kieren said. He went inside without another word, Simon trailing behind him. Gary was left standing there in the middle of the street. Kieren half-hoped he’d be gone by the time they returned.

-

The car ride was silent as death. Gary had tried, at first, to make small talk, but Simon either said nothing in response or afforded him a look so dry and cutting that it sucked all of the wind out of Gary’s sails.

They were halfway there when Gary tried one last time. “What the bloody hell does ‘HVF’ stand for? I’ve seen it five time times and we’re not even an hour from Roarton.”

“Human Volunteer Force,” Simon said shortly.

“Volunteer? For what?” Gary gestured to the miles of vacant land beyond the walls of the car. “Nothing out here but grass and cows.”

“The HVF was a patrol group that cleared out the dead from places like Roarton after the Rising.” Simon wasn’t particularly thrilled about this conversation, but he figured that, at the very least, Gary deserved to know what he was in for.

“Cleared out...?” Gary asked, first hints of trepidation appearing on his face. Simon sighed.

“Killed. At the time we didn’t know there was any other way.”

“We?” Gary’s eyebrows were nearly in his hairline. There was something distinctly defensive about his posture.

“I was part of the HVF for a while. I quit after they started sending people to treatment facilities.”

“So you--”

“Yes,” Simon said, resigned. “I killed people like you. And I watched people like you being killed.”

Gary swallowed and seemed to take a moment to digest this. After a minute of thinking it over, he asked, “Why was I spared?”

An unbidden film reel of images played before Simon’s eyes: a figure dragging itself through the forest, black and red coagulated blood thick on its chin, eyes cold and blank as white marble. His own finger on the trigger. He shrugged uncomfortably. “You got lucky, I suppose.”

Gary was quiet for another ten minutes, but Simon could sense that there was a storm brewing inside of him. He looked angry and scared in equal measure, but also like he was biding his time. _For what?_ Simon wondered.

“Why are you doing this?” Gary asked eventually, a sharp edge to his voice. Simon didn’t deign to take his eyes off the road.

“You have Kieren to thank.”

“Yeah?” Gary laughed half-heartedly, running a hand over his scruffy jaw. “Funny thing, him helping me out. He weren’t exactly my best mate before I-- before.” Simon worked his jaw, trying very hard to keep from saying something prematurely caustic.

“I can’t imagine why,” Simon eventually managed. Gary’s brow lowered. He scowled out the window for a minute before he turned his body to fully face Simon.

“What’s yer problem with me?” Gary snapped.

Simon’s hands tightened on the steering wheel until the white of his knuckles stood out. He breathed in and out for a few seconds and resolved to stay quiet. If he said anything else, he might incriminate Kieren.

“Fine.” Gary turned to face the window again. “Irish prick,” he muttered under his breath.

-

It near dark by the time Simon came back. Sue and Steve were finishing up dinner in the dining room and Kieren and Jem were sitting on the sofa playing Mario Kart together. Jem was winning by an enormous margin, and Simon felt ridiculously warmed by the sight of the little pout that Kieren wore as he jammed his fingers into the buttons of his controller, cursing Yoshi to hell and back.

As soon as Kieren noticed Simon standing there watching them, the pout cleared off his face. He dropped the controller immediately and got up to hug Simon. Surprised, Simon tentatively wrapped an arm around Kieren’s shoulders and held him to his chest.

“Thank you,” Kieren said quietly, words muffled into Simon’s shoulder. Simon nodded and they separated.

Jem had paused the game and was watching them with a keen gaze, head tipped back, tiny hint of a smile on her lips. Before Simon could say anything, she walked up to him and enveloped him in a brief but warm hug.

“It’s good to see you, Jem,” Simon said sincerely. Jem socked him in the shoulder.

“‘Course it is,” she said wryly, but her smile said that it was good to see him, too.

“Is that Simon?” Sue called from the other room. Kieren shouted back in the affirmative and Sue emerged a moment later wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Simon immediately handed over the car keys and Sue took them, looking pleased.

“Thank you, but that’s not what I came out here to ask.” Simon looked at her, puzzled, but Sue just went on smiling at him. “Would you like to stay for dinner? There’s plenty leftover.”

Simon began to refuse out of a misplaced place sense of courtesy, but Sue put a hand on his elbow and started leading him in the direction of the dining room. “Oh really, Simon, I insist. You haven’t been ‘round in so long, and it’s no trouble at all.”

Simon did stay for dinner, chatting idly with Sue and Steve about what he’d been doing for the past few months (leaving out a few key parts) and dodging any questions about his family. Steve interrupted at some point and asked if Simon “needed a place to stay like Gary Kendal did.” Kieren had stuck to his word, then. Simon was unsurprised. Steve told him there was an empty flat with two rooms for rent that his coworker Geoff knew of. Kieren was to tell Gary about it in the morning. Simon politely refused the offer, because nothing on God’s Green earth sounded worse than sharing living quarters with Gary Kendal.

By the time he finished it was getting late and Sue was eyeing him like she was prepared to physically restrain him if he thought of leaving. He got up to clear the table at the end of the meal, and Sue followed him into the kitchen and began to scrub the dirty dishes as he stacked them in the sink. For a few minutes they worked in comfortable silence. Then Sue set the last clean dish to the side and leaned against the counter, watching Simon as he dried them.

“Stay,” she said softly, as though wary of scaring him away. Simon wiped down the last dish and dried his hands on his trousers.

“For the night,” Simon agreed. He didn’t really have anywhere else to go, but he was kidding himself if he thought that was the main reason for his amiability. He took comfort in knowing that there were only a few rooms between him and Kieren after so long of him being out of reach.

That said, he planned to sleep on the sofa tonight. There were two reasons for this: the first was that he didn’t trust himself to keep his hands to himself (no matter how willing Kieren seemed to be to get close to him); the second was that he wanted, in some twisted way, to punish himself. Relapsing felt like a betrayal. Keeping himself away from Kieren was a kind of penance. Simon distantly acknowledged that it was unhealthy to think like that, but it was the only way he knew to cope with the scalding guilt that ate through his gut like lye.

-

Amy wiped the napkin one final time over her cheek and set it down on the vanity. There. That was the last of it. Her face felt naked and raw without the cover up. She looked at herself and tried not to recoil at what looked back at her. Gaunt cheeks, purple lips, eyes round and silver-white like the moon. She tried a smile, but it cracked before it could grow to full size.

The light over her vanity mirror was soft, the kind that used to cast her face in a healthy pink glow while she sat on her nan’s lap and watched her get ready. Every time she sat in this seat she felt the strong pull in her stomach that reminded Amy of how much she missed her.

Her grandmother had been tall - almost statuesque - in her day, but by the time Amy was a young girl, she was withered and stooped with age. But despite the years that bore deep crevasses in her skin, there had still been something strong and proud about her right up until the very last day of her life.  
Most mornings Nan would sit at her vanity after breakfast brushing her thinning hair out until it lay in perfectly straight over her shoulders. In her heyday, her locks had been rich and dark brown, just like Amy’s. Now they were the stringy gray wires of an old woman.

Nan would start with a thick pat of foundation, working each layer into the lines of her face until they were almost completely smoothed over. Next came a few dabs of concealer over the especially tricky patches of skin, and then a light bronzer to give herself a more natural look. After the foundation set, she would look at Amy and say, “Now here is the part that you want to pay attention to, love.”

And Amy would watch with huge eyes as her grandmother took out the little compact of rouge, which Amy loved because it was a rich rose colour that made her nan look like she had a permanent blush on her cheeks.

“You put it here, see?” Her nan used a small brush to collect some of the red powder. She sucked her lips in and swiped the soft bristles over the apples of her cheeks. Amy giggled at how silly her nan looked. Her grandmother dipped an arthritic finger in the rouge and pressed it to the tip of Amy’s nose, leaving behind a tiny red smear. “And here,” her nan continued, squeezing Amy tight as they both broke down in giggles.

After they calmed down, her grandmother applied her favorite lipstick in red satin and smacked her lips until the colour was evenly applied. Afterwards they would gaze into the mirror together, looking at the beautiful picture she had painted.

“Can I have some, too?” Amy sometimes asked.

“Oh, all right. But just a dab - you’re still a little young, yet.” And her nan would take up the brush with rouge on it and instruct Amy to hollow her cheeks. She put a tiny amount on each side - just enough that Amy’s face glowed with warmth.

Years later, when Nan got too sick to sit at her vanity anymore, she would ask Amy to bring the little compact mirror over to her bedside, and she would make herself up as meticulously as possible with shaking hands. Towards the very end, her fingers became too stiff to do much of anything. Every movement made her joints crack and her muscles cramp. Amy would sit and watch as her grandmother winced through every stroke of the brush over her cheeks.

“Why do you still do that?” Amy asked. It hurt her to see her grandmother put herself through this in vain. “No one’s here to see you except me, Nan. And you know I don’t care how you look.”

It was the same response every time. Her grandmother would look up at her through watery eyes, smile trembling on her painted lips. “You have to suffer to be beautiful, Amy.”

Beautiful. To her grandmother, beautiful had meant smooth skin and rosy red cheeks. To Amy, it meant those brief moments of time when her nan had sat her on her lap and they looked into the mirror together, alive and laughing like fools. To be beautiful meant to be living and breathing and smiling with someone you loved. To be beautiful meant to be alive. And whatever she was now was a poor approximation of that.

_You have to suffer to be beautiful, Amy._

Amy repeated this to herself as she slowly undid the buttons on her starched blouse and laid it out on the bed. She repeated it as she unhooked her bra and set it atop the blouse. She repeated it as she turned so that her back faced the mirror, and as she took the syringe that contained a dose of neurotriptyline and shot in into the puncture wound on the back of her neck.

And quietly, one last time, she repeated it to herself as she turned her head and counted the sutures that held together the fissured skin of her back.

-

_Simon woke up to a presence in the room. At first, torn between the dregs of sleep and the hazy shores of wakefulness, he thought he was imagining the figure standing over him. The sofa was narrow, so he didn’t have much room to roll away. There was nowhere to go. He propped himself up, heart drumming rapidly in his chest, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the living room._

_“Kieren?” The figure stared at him blankly, eyes open but unseeing, chest rising and falling slowly with each of his shallow breaths. But it was Kieren, undoubtedly. Simon reached out a hand and set it upon his shoulder, shaking him lightly. Kieren yielded to the movement, swaying back and forth under Simon’s grip. Simon retracted his hand and stared._

_Kieren shuffled forward unprompted until his knees knocked against the edge of the sofa. Then he sloppily swung a leg over Simon’s hips to brace himself so had enough leverage to lift the rest of his body onto the sofa. Kieren was straddling him now, and though his position had changed, his expression hadn’t shifted at all. He was still looking down at Simon with that unnervingly hollow gaze._

_Between one moment and the next, Kieren moved his hands to Simon’s chest. He rested them there for a second before shifting them slowly up to his clavicle and then further up, still, until they came to rest at the base of his neck._

_Simon swallowed and Kieren’s thumbs pressed against his pulse. He shifted and felt Kieren’s entire body weight pinning him down by the hips. Simon grabbed Kieren’s wrists and tried to pry them off as gently as possible, but he wouldn’t budge. The flesh that had yielded to him a moment ago was like stone now._

_As if sensing Simon’s distress, Kieren’s fingers tightened around his neck until they made a closed circuit. His grip was slack enough for Simon to breathe, but just barely. “You need to wake up,” Simon said urgently, much louder. “Kieren,_ please _.”_

_Hearing his name spoken aloud seemed to incense Kieren further. His hands were tight enough now that Simon was struggling to draw in a breath. “Kieren.” Simon bucked against his hold, choking in earnest now. “Wake up! Wake up.”_

-

“ _Wake up._ ”

Kieren’s eyes flew open. It took a long time for his surroundings to make sense to him, and when they did, it didn’t ease the sinking horror he felt in his stomach. He was sitting upright in his own bed. It was dark out still, probably early morning. There wasn’t a sound in the house except for the harsh grate of his own breathing.

He flexed his hands unconsciously and looked down at them. They felt cramped, like they’d been clenched tightly for hours. Kieren swallowed and swung himself out of bed. His entire head was buzzing like he was hooked up to a livewire, and he needed to work off the excess energy or else go insane with it.

Kieren slipped on a pair of slippers and shuffled out his room and down the stairs as quietly as possible. Maybe taking a walk would help, or making something to eat, or--

“Simon?”

Simon was sitting upright on the sofa in the same position that Kieren had woken up in minutes ago. He had pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He was still and staring off into the relative darkness.

When Kieren said his name, he jolted out of his reverie and snapped to face him. Even from a distance he could see that Simon’s eyes were wet. Kieren walked to him as if drawn by a fishing line. When he got close, Simon shifted over on the sofa to make room. Kieren sat beside him and folded his legs underneath himself.

“Can’t sleep?” Simon croaked. Kieren nodded mutely and Simon surprised him by taking a hold of his hand. “Another nightmare?” When Kieren gave him a puzzled look, Simon smiled gently. “You have that look on your face.”

“It was more vivid than any dream I’ve had so far,” Kieren said. He tipped his head back and swallowed against the harsh press of tears that suddenly threatened his vision. “Did I wake you? I’m--”

“Don’t apologise,” Simon said fiercely. “It’s not your fault.”

“You might not be so eager to say that if I told you what happened.”

Simon leveled him with a steady stare. “Try me.”

Kieren explained to him in plain terms what the dream had been like. It was in third person, for one, which was a deviation from the norm. Usually Kieren had a front-row seat to all of his nightmares; this time, he had been consciously removed from the action. It was as though he had been experiencing the entire scene from someone else’s eyes. Simon looked unphased when Kieren finished talking.

“That doesn’t change anything,” he said quietly. “It’s going to take more than that to get rid of me.”

“Simon, I tried to _strangle_ you.”

“It was just a dream. I’m fine.” Simon tugged the collar of his shirt down to reveal the unmarked expanse of his pale neck.

Kieren blew out a long breath that had been trapped inside him ever since he woke up. As hard as he squinted, there was no evidence of handprints on Simon’s skin. It wasn’t real. None of it had actually happened. “What the fuck is going on?” Kieren curled his limbs in closer to his body. Then, more quietly, “If I ever hurt you...”

Simon pulled Kieren into his chest and held him there with both arms. As much as it made Kieren feel like a child, it was immensely comforting at the same time. Simon was sturdy and gave off heat like a furnace. Kieren nestled his head just above Simon’s heart. It’s rhythm was steady and strong, so unlike the erratic beating of a suffocating man that Kieren felt himself calmed by it.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Simon said, voice so sure that it almost convinced Kieren.

“But if I did--”

“You won’t.” Simon nudged Kieren’s chin so that they would be eye to eye. “Do you hear me? You won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t be,” Simon said. He shrugged. “But I know who you are, and I _trust_ you, Kieren. More than anyone.”

“Then will you listen to me if I say something absolutely mad?” Simon nodded. “These aren’t normal dreams,” Kieren said. “I don’t know what they are, exactly, but...”

“I believe you.” Simon drew in a deep breath. “The night after I visited you in the hospital I had a strange nightmare. I dreamt of two white eyes and the kind of darkness that you never come back from. I didn’t think anything of it at first, but now that the Rising has happened and you’re having these nightmares, too...”

“White eyes like the dead have, you mean?” Kieren asked urgently. Simon stared at him blankly, uncomprehending. “I saw them, too. And for weeks after I got back from the hospital I could only dream of darkness and falling, and when I woke up I always had the taste of dirt in my mouth.”

Simon swallowed, and Kieren could see the precise moment that the terrible realisation dawned on him. “You think we dreamt of the Rising before it happened.”

“It’s not impossible, is it?” Simon shifted uncomfortably and didn’t answer. “I’m serious,” Kieren said. “Look at all that’s happened in the past year. After the Rising, all of the rules changed. Everything we thought we knew about the natural world was turned on its head. Who says two people can’t share prophetic dreams now?”

Simon studied him for a long moment, trying to assess the situation but clearly falling short by a few paces. Simon was a sceptic; once while they were having a conversation about God he had told Kieren that the only thing he had faith in was the ground beneath his feet and the people he loved. Kieren thought back to one of their earliest conversations and remembered feeling uncomfortable over the idea that Simon put too much faith in him. Did that mean Simon loved him?

Kieren felt an abrupt surge of affection for him then. Simon was the man who had volunteered to keep his family safe and fed for months and all the while looked at Kieren like he was worthy of adoration. And he was also the man who had literally kept him from the grave. Unsurprisingly, Kieren found that he trusted Simon implicitly.

“Why us?” Simon asked finally.

“Maybe we have some sort of connection.” The magnitude of that idea and the implications it held were too much to contemplate this early in the morning. Simon looked about as exhausted as Kieren felt, so Kieren cut off the part of his brain that was racing with questions and anxiety. They would deal with this another time. For now, Kieren wanted to take his mind off everything, and Simon looked like the perfect combination of endearing and distracting.

“A connection?” Simon echoed.

A cheeky idea dawned on Kieren, and he refused to think long enough to resist the temptation of saying it: “Want to find out for sure?” Simon’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t look uninterested or opposed. Kieren dipped his head forward until his mouth was centimeters from Simon’s. “For example, I’ve had this dream more than once,” Kieren said, drifting closer still until their lips brushed on every second syllable. “Have you?”

“I’ve...” Simon swallowed compulsively, hands twitching at his sides. “Yes. This feels familiar.”

“And this?” Kieren slid his hand up until his palm rested against Simon’s flushed cheek and tugged him closer. They were moving against each other in earnest now, both of them barely able to catch their breath between one kiss in the next.

“This too,” Simon mumbled into Kieren’s mouth, words half-lost in the exchange.

Simon brought out a completely different side in Kieren. When Kieren was younger, he’d always imagined that he would be stilted and awkward in all of his attempts to bestow affection upon another person. His times with Rick had been too brief and repressed to really test that theory. Simon was the first person he’d ever fully opened up to in a physical manner.

It was too chilly to strip, so Kieren grabbed Simon’s hand and guided it to the sliver of skin bared where his shirt rode up. Simon visibly hesitated, several expressions warring for control of his face at once. Kieren waited patiently until he saw his resolve splinter like a fragile eggshell. Simon surged forward with a force that knocked Kieren into the arm of the sofa. It dug into his back, but he hardly noticed it over the feeling of Simon pressed fully against him. Simon let his fingers traipse over Kieren’s sides in a way that elicited a full-body shivers. Kieren felt a strange urge well up inside him and realised that he was fighting to keep from making any sound.

Simon pulled back immediately, misinterpreting Kieren's internal struggle as reluctance. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, God.” Kieren huffed an embarrassed laugh. “I’m just... I’m trying to keep from making noise, to be honest.”

Simon’s eyes softened at that. He sandwiched his body against Kieren’s again and muffled a fond laugh in his hair. “But I want to hear you.”

“Maybe when my whole family’s not sleeping just upstairs, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed. A look of horror passed over his face just then; Kieren presumed he was imagining the look on Sue’s if she were to come downstairs and find them like this. “We probably shouldn’t--”

Kieren grabbed Simon’s wrist before he could pull away again. “Oh, no. Not when we’ve gotten this far.”

Simon hesitated for another half-second, but he was an easy sell. It only took a tiny coaxing nudge of Kieren’s hand against his jaw until they were kissing again. Kieren was twice as eager now, driven by the knowledge that they could very easily be caught at any moment. He fit his hands around Simon’s hips and used them like handles to pull their lower halves together. Simon breathed a stifled noise into his mouth and rocked into him slowly, sweetly, one hand under Kieren’s shirt and the other curled around his shoulder, propping Kieren up.

Kieren felt a full-body wave of warmth wash over him and pressed forward harder, seeking out more of the feeling. Their hips slotted together perfectly, and though they were fully clothed, Kieren could feel Simon hard against him and knew that Simon could feel him too. Kieren ached for skin on skin contact. But there was still the present risk of someone catching them, so eventually he settled for tracing the outline of Simon’s cock through two layers of clothing.

Simon exhaled shuddery, half-aborted breaths into Kieren’s mouth and pressed into his touch needily. Kieren not-so-secretly thrilled at the feeling of Simon in his hand; he was warm even through the barrier of cotton and big enough that he filled Kieren’s palm.

“F--mhm.” Simon muffled his voice into his sleeve at the last second. Kieren had never really done this before, but could tell from the quickly pinkening flush on Simon’s neck that he was getting close. He redoubled his efforts, gripping Simon’s cock and tugging rhythmically. Simon’s hips where hitching unashamedly into every movement Kieren made. Then, completely unexpectedly, he pushed Kieren’s hands away.

“Is something--” Simon’s fingers were pulling at the drawstrings of his sweatpants before Kieren could finish his sentence. He made quick work of the knot and then proceeded to roll down the waistband until the pants were loose enough that he could fit a hand inside. Kieren’s tensed all over in anticipation as Simon touched the base of his cock. He paused there for a moment, hesitating, and then began to stroke him.

Kieren tossed his head back and keened, completely at Simon’s mercy now. He could do nothing but lie back and ride it out. At some point Simon retracted his hand to lick his palm, and when he put it back everything was _slicker_ and even better somehow. His cock jerked in Simon’s grip, leaking precome all over his palm, entire body thrumming with the need for release.

Kieren tilted his head to watch Simon; his expression was one of complete reverence, mouth open, eyelids heavy. Kieren kissed him messily and slipped a thigh between his spread legs so that Simon had something to press against. His hand had curled into a fist around Kieren now, tugging fast, just like Kieren usually did for himself. Simon rubbed off against Kieren’s thigh all the while, staring right at Kieren as he did so, blown pupils nearly eclipsing the clear blue of his irises. Kieren pressed his lips against Simon’s pulse and nipped the skin there gently.

Simon picked up the pace and rubbed his thumb over Kieren’s leaking slit. That was what did it. Kieren seized for a second before all of the tension flooded out of him as he came, soaking Simon’s hand. Then he blew out a disjointed breath and melted into the sofa cushions. Simon’s fist slackened. He bore down against Kieren’s thigh one last time and gave one long shudder as he came.

Kieren laughed breathlessly, quirking an eyebrow. “Didn’t take much.”

Simon rolled his eyes fondly and wiped his filthy hand off on Kieren’s shirt. “You underestimate how incredible that was to watch.”

-

Kieren woke up with half of his body hanging off the edge of the sofa, Simon a dead weight on top of him. The first rays of the early morning sun were filtering in through the living room curtains, staining portions of the floor in golden light. Kieren extracted himself from the tangle of their limbs carefully, so as not to disturb Simon, who was sleeping more deeply and peacefully than Kieren had ever seen him.

Kieren smiled and watched him for a moment as the light slowly crept over the floor and towards the sofa. Soon it would reach Simon’s eyelids and he would wake up. He stretched, feeling drowsy and content. The only unpleasant feeling was the way his boxer shorts were sticking slightly to his skin. Grimacing, Kieren sprinted upstairs, hoping to change and be back before Simon woke up.

Just as he was stepping into a fresh pair of shorts, the screen of his phone lit up from across the room. He first thought that it was Amy, because he promised to ring her yesterday but had forgotten. He was right - there were two missed calls from her from last night. But the most recent notification was a single text:

 

> **Rick**  
>  7:30 am  
>  >> can we talk? xx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all of you and I love all of your comments and I'm sorry I haven't had time to reply to the latest batch yet! I will get to that over the weekend. I know I said I'd have this chapter up sooner but I had a series of crises in which I could not decide whether to scrap it entirely and start over for complicated plot reasons. In the end, I rewrote a whole chunk and just decided to go with it. 
> 
> also, "fun" fact: that whole section about Amy was actually taken directly, word for word, from what my grandmother used to tell me when i was young. she died a year and a half ago, so i guess this is kind of a tribute to her? I don't necessarily agree with that whole "suffer to be beautiful" thing, but that was the time my grandma came from. I guess she grew up in a world where beauty - her beauty, specifically - came with a lot of sacrifice. i thought that was fitting for Amy (the Amy in my fic, maybe not the one in canon), because although she does not necessarily see physical beauty as something to suffer for, she does does attribute beauty to life - more specifically, being alive and vibrant and happy like she used to be. so that is something that she would suffer dearly for, and she has. and yes, she was the one who went under the knife in the treatment facility. her scar is very similar to the one Simon bears in canon. 
> 
> also, this story will likely get more explicit than what i wrote in this chapter. oddly enough, i always feel like i'm making people uncomfortable when i post anything explicit (maybe that's just projection), but i know most of y'all are horny af, so i'm just gonna leave this here... enjoy.


	19. Go Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Alt-J's "Tessellate."

Simon woke slowly. There was a hand brushing through his hair, and his skin felt too-warm, clammy like it got when he was sick. For a brief stretch of time he let himself believe he was back in his childhood bedroom, and his mother was combing through his hair like she used to do for him when he had a fever so high he had to stay home from school.

When he finally did open his eyes, he was unsurprised to find Kieren looking down at him instead. Simon’s head was pillowed in his lap and Kieren was propped up against one of the arm’s of the sofa, feet hanging off the edge. He looked like he’d been awake for a while now.

“Morning,” Kieren said. He was cheerful enough, but there was a strange note of apprehension in his voice.

“Hey,” Simon replied sleepily. He hefted himself up on one arm so that they were at eye level with one another. “That felt nice, what you were doing.” He could still feel the phantom touch of Kieren’s fingers on his scalp.

Kieren flushed. “I got a little carried away,” he admitted. “You look nice when you’re asleep. Peaceful.”

“Yeah?”

Kieren nodded and looked down at his hands, distracted.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” Kieren was too quick to reply. He swallowed. “I don’t know. Rick texted me a few hours ago. He asked if we could talk.”

“Go to him,” Simon said immediately. He didn’t even have to think about it. Rick was Kieren’s best mate; he hadn’t expected to change that.

“Simon, I...” Kieren swallowed. “I wanted you to meet him.”

“It’s okay,” Simon said. “He needs just _you_ right now, not a stranger. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Kieren exhaled deeply. Somehow, Simon knew that was exactly what he had needed to hear. Kieren’s fingers began to comb gently through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, and Simon fell asleep again between one breath and the next.

-

Rick was sitting on his own tombstone when Kieren arrived. He was fiddling with the frayed edges of his corduroy jacket so intently that he didn’t notice Kieren’s approach.

“Rick?”

Rick startled hard enough that he slid off the tombstone and had to steady himself against it to keep from falling. When he saw it was Kieren standing there, every muscle in his body relaxed at once. For a brief moment, he looked completely at ease and unguarded. Then he blinked, and it was as though someone had pulled a veil over his face.

“What happened?” Kieren asked carefully.

“Nothing,” Rick said. His hands were shaking. He stuck them in his pockets and slouched back against the tombstone. “Just wanted to see you.”

“You’re shaking.” Kieren closed the remaining distance between them and tugged Rick’s hands gently from his pockets. They were trembling just enough that it was conspicuous, and there was the unmistakable red crust of dried blood underneath his fingernails.

“I--” Rick couldn’t get the words out, mouth opening and closing compulsively like he was glitching on a loop. He snatched one of his hands from Kieren’s grip and rubbed it roughly over his face, hard enough that the stitches pulled his skin taut. “If I tell you... if I-- don’t think of me any differently. Please, Ren.”

“I won’t,” Kieren promised. He was braced for anything at this point. Rick could tell him that he’d jump-started the apocalypse and Kieren would forgive him.

“I couldn’t stop it,” Rick bit out eventually.

“Couldn’t stop...?”

“I... I killed two rott-- two _people_ last night.”

Kieren opened his mouth to reply but found that nothing was coming to him. His first thought was not ‘how could he do something so horrible?’ but rather ‘what can I do to alleviate his pain?’ Kieren thought back to when he told Simon about killing Gary. Though accidental, it had shaken him badly. Simon had done his best to reassure him, but Kieren still felt the sting of that murder to this very day. It was the kind of thing that never left you. But he couldn’t say that.

Kieren knelt in the sparse patches of grass by Rick’s tombstone, mirroring a position he’d been in only a few times since Rick’s death - once, just after the funeral (Bill had made it clear he wasn’t welcome at the actual service) - and a few times on his long nightly walks after he’d failed to kill himself.

Rick didn’t know that his own tombstone had haunted Kieren, though. To him it was just a slab of stone that happened to have his name and birthday engraved on it. He didn’t know what it was like to live in a world without your best friend. Kieren pushed that thought to the back of his head and focused on helping Rick.

First, he tried something that might have worked when he was alive: touch. Rick understood things tactilely more than he did verbally; Rick used to brush casual touches along his shoulders and the middle of his back all of the time under the guise of being friendly or helpful. To the average onlooker, the touches must have looked like something like the shoulder slaps that men often gave each other to express triumph or support, but Kieren understood the gentleness and affection behind each gesture, even when Rick himself didn’t quite get it.

“What happened?” Kieren asked again, this time laying a hand on Rick’s knee and leaning in just enough that his body heat could be felt. Then he recalled asking Amy how she could hold a scalding cup of tea without flinching, and her telling him that she couldn’t feel differences in temperature anymore. Rick would never feel the warmth of another body again. The thought was sobering.

Rick took a shuddering breath and stared down at Kieren’s hand like he was trying to burn a hole through it. “I went with my dad and a few others - Daz and Harry - out on patrol last night. It was supposed to just be routine, but there was this-- this sound in the underbrush, and then out of nowhere came these two people. A girl and her father. They were walking slow and at first I thought they were just taking shelter in our-- in that cave over by the bridge. But then I realised they were scavenging, and I weren’t going to say anythin’, but Daz saw ‘em first and called out.

We caught up with them pretty quick and Daz trapped them. My dad said we had to get rid of them. I had the rifle on me and since I’m a better shot, he asked me to--” Rick hiccoughed a dry sob and wrapped his arms around his middle as though to hold himself together. “The father tried to shield his daughter when I raised the gun; y’know, to protect her. But I just shot him first, and then... then when he was dead, I shot the little girl right through the head. Didn’t even think about it.”

Rick looked at him with hard eyes. They were as shiny as glass marbles and narrowed like he was daring Kieren to hate him, like he was expecting some kind of nasty rebuke. Instead, Kieren got to his feet and wrapped Rick in his arms, completely erasing the negative space between them. Rick clung to him like a drowning man clung to a life raft.

“You don’t hate me?” Rick asked, sounding very small.

“Sometimes we do terrible things,” Kieren said after a long pause. “And we hate ourselves for them, and we want other people to hate us for what we’ve done, too. But we can’t go on like that forever.” Kieren pulled away and made sure Rick was looking at him. “You did this for Bill. Not because you wanted to or because you thought it was the right thing to do. You don’t deserve to be hated. Bill is the one at fault here. I’m sure of that, Rick.”

“But I was still the one who pulled the trigger.” Rick swiftly extricated himself from Kieren’s embrace. “I’m the reason they’re both dead. They could’ve been-- treated, right? Like me?”

The word ‘treated’ was a punch to the chest. Yes, treated, because that was what Rick was. And without that treatment, he would be the same as the walking corpses that Rick had shot in the woods just hours ago.

“Maybe,” Kieren conceded. But what kind of life would that be for a little girl - a girl who would stay young forever? He swallowed the words before he could say them aloud. That kind of thinking was poisonous. “I heard not everyone responds positively to the treatment.”

“Yeah, but there was a _chance_ ,” Rick said, voice splintering over the last syllable. “Killing them... it’s not any different than killing a regular person, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Kieren hedged, feeling guilt like a hot stone in his gut. He imagined someone killing Amy or Rick and knew right away that he wouldn’t feel any less righteous or upset about it just because they were technically dead already.

“In the war, we were made to feel like we weren’t killing actual humans. I was just part of the larger machine over there, so it was easy not to think of myself as being responsible for all of that death. I wasn’t there long enough to rack up a long kill list or anything, but I still.... I still killed people. And pulling the trigger in Afghanistan didn’t feel any different than what I did last night.”

“No, you’re right. It’s not different,” Kieren amended wearily. He knew it was true, but saying it felt like betraying his instinct to protect Rick at all costs.

“How can I live with that?”

“You forgive yourself,” Kieren said quietly. The answer was obvious. It was one that he himself had been running from for a long time now. “You forgive yourself and you never do it again, Rick.”

“What about--”

“ _Fuck_ Bill,” Kieren said vehemently, knowing exactly where that train of thought was headed. “You don’t have to do everything he tells you, you know. Not anymore.”

Rick’s immediate reaction was to recoil. “He’s my dad, Ren.”

“He doesn’t own you,” Kieren said earnestly. He realised he was digging his nails into the skin above Rick’s knee, flinched, and then remembered that he couldn’t feel it anyway. Still, he made an effort to calm himself.

“He does.” Rick dropped his head into his hands and exhaled his way through a sob. “He does. He has my whole life. I don’t... I don’t know how _not_ to listen to him. Since I were a little kid all I wanted was to have him be proud of me, but now I’ll _never_ be anything to be proud of, and we both know it.”

Rick lifted his head and Kieren could’ve cried at the sight of him, the way the shadows made him look gaunt and incorporeal. There was a hunted look in his eyes. Suddenly everything Simon had said about Rick made perfect sense. Kieren had known all along what kind of person Bill was, but he hadn’t been able to understand what being controlled - abused, really - his whole life had done to Rick. The person he saw right now was a poor facsimile of Rick that had been molded by Bill’s poisonous hands.

“I’m sorry,” Kieren whispered. There was nothing that could make this better.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sorry I can’t help.”

_I’m sorry I’m not enough. I’m sorry I didn’t figure this all out sooner. I’m sorry I ever blamed you for anything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry._

“Don’t be daft. You’re the only one trying.” Rick gave him a watery smile and Kieren’s heart squeezed in his chest. He couldn't remember the last time Rick had spoken to him so honestly.

“I wish we had talked like this when you were...” Kieren cleared his throat. “Before.”

“There was too much at stake then. Figure I have nothing left to lose now.”

“That’s not true.”

Rick nodded and covered Kieren’s hand on his knee with his own. “I don’t want to go away again. I shouldn’t have in the first place, but I needed something that I couldn’t find in Roarton. At the time, a part of me had to be far away from here. From him.”

From Bill, he meant. Kieren studied him. Rick’s expression could be mistaken for neutral in the right lighting, but he saw the hint of desperation that deepened the crease between his eyebrows and tightened the bruised skin around his eyes.

“Lot of good that did me,” Rick eventually snorted, kicking up the dusty ground with the toe of his boot.

“Did you find what you needed?”

Rick closed his eyes and tilted his head up to the stars. “No,” he said softly. When he eventually tilted his head back down, his eyes were large and dark, consuming as the night sky. “I didn’t.”

Rick swayed closer so slowly that Kieren hadn’t realised he moved until their faces were centimeters apart. Kieren stayed as still as possible, holding his breath. For a moment Rick seemed to hesitate on the precipice of doing and not-doing.

In the end, when Rick nudged forward and kissed him, Kieren was selfishly glad that he had chosen the former.

-

“You’re doing it wrong,” Jem sighed. She twirled the hammer in one hand like it was a baton while Simon watched on in horror. Jem rolled her eyes. “Look, there’s a part on the end here that you use to pry the nails out of the wood.”

Simon squinted at the window as though he could blast the boards off of it with his gaze alone. When Jem had asked him for some help taking them down a few hours ago, Simon had agreed easily. After all, the Rising was over, and there weren’t many stray corpses around to be afraid of. It didn’t make sense to leave them up any longer.

“Maybe it’s best to just leave the boards up,” Simon reasoned. “There’s still danger out there now, and if there were ever a second rising--”

“Second rising?” Jem snorted. “I think that’s just your dislike of physical labor talking.”

“It could happen,” Simon protested. “It’s all just talk right now, but apparently an extremist group has been planning something.” He grunted with the effort of tearing one of the heavier boards off the window and wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead. “And it never hurts to be cautious.”

Jem waved a hand nonchalantly. “Don’t know what you’re nattering on about. The rising was just a freak mistake. No chance of a repeat.”

“I hope you’re right.” Simon pulled a splinter out of his finger and stood back to survey their work. In the hour they’d been doing this, they had taken down only half of the boards.

Jem sighed, betraying her own fatigue. “Fine. That’s good for now. Fancy a break?”

Simon nodded and followed Jem inside the house. She made them both a cup of tea without asking, and then plopped down on the sofa and stared at the empty space beside her until Simon took the hint and sat too. They both sipped in silence for several minutes, and with each moment Simon felt his heartbeat pick up a little more.

“Kieren was happy this morning,” Jem eventually said, looking at him over the rim of her cup.

“Yes.”

“Unusually happy,” she continued. “He’s not a morning person, y’know.”

“I know.”

“Look.” Jem set her cup aside and folded her arms across her chest. “I know what you two have. I’m also not deaf.”

“Were we that obvious?” Simon grimaced. He thought back to last night and remembered how hard he had bit his tongue in an effort to stay quiet. Apparently he hadn’t bitten hard enough.

“Painfully.”

Simon huffed an embarrassed laugh. “To be honest, I’m surprised Kieren hasn’t said something to you yet.”

“He’s always been sort of private about relationships,” Jem reasoned. “Especially the ones that matter to him. He never even properly told me that he and Rick were...” Jem bit her lip. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s all right,” Simon said sincerely. “I don’t mind it.”

“You’re good for him,” Jem said, eyes softening. “Just do me a favour, okay?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t hurt him. He’s more sensitive than he lets on.”

Simon nodded wordlessly. He had vowed a long time ago now to never hurt Kieren on purpose. Even if Kieren decided tomorrow that he didn’t want him, Simon would accept the decision quietly and resolve to leave him alone. That was what Simon had done with his mum and dad, and he would do it just as readily for Kieren. Leaving was what you did for someone you loved.

-

“Mr Teller, do you have the recent report on Subject 88?”

Mr Teller peered down at the sheaf of papers on his clipboard. “Yes, the subject seems to be adjusting well to its surroundings. It has made contact with several individuals since its release, one of whom...” He flipped to the second to last paper in his stack and scanned over it briefly. “One of whom is the aborted Subject 91.”

“Subject 91 isn’t on the roster anymore, Mr Teller.”

“Well, yes, but you said that some residual effects are to be expected.”

“We don’t have the time to dwell on that.”

“Right, but I should like to mention that the results thus far are really quite fascinating, Sir. Subject 91 has been experiencing symptoms of distress since--”

“Continue to monitor Subject 88. We should have terminated Subject 91 during the first phase. I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”

Mr Teller set down his clipboard, cleared his throat, and said, “Sir, that’s...”

“That will be all, Mr Teller.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry. I know this is about three months overdue. I've had a difficult time lately with school. For some reason my teaches thought it would be fun to dump a total of 9 projects on me. I've also just been in a really bad place with my writing. I feel terrible because I had this chapter written by the third week in March and for some reason I held off on posting it because I didn't feel right about it. I don't know what came over me.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued support, and I hope my extended hiatus didn't put anyone off too much. I love you guys. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is short, but I have the next one half-written. 
> 
> P.S. To anyone's concerned about Rick/Kieren becoming the main pairing, don't worry. Feel free to tell me how you feel about them, though.


	20. The Lord Giveth

The sun was setting by the time Amy knocked on the door to the Walker household. This was the tenth door she had tried. Or maybe the eleventh. She lost count after twenty minutes of awkward conversations with the locals. All of them were so stiff and wary. Not one person had offered her their name or even a suggestion as to where she might find who she was looking for. 

There was a long delay from the time when she knocked to the time when the door actually opened, so much so that Amy was fully prepared to face another rude old lady. Instead, a girl came to the door. She had long dark hair and serious grey-blue eyes that were astute in their quick perusal of Amy. The girl tilted her head up, almost as if in challenge. 

Amy was bizarrely reminded of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom. Her nan had had a fondness for Greek mythology - a residual interest left over from her time studying in Athens as a student - and Athena had always been her favourite of the Greek gods. Instead of bedtime stories about princesses locked away in their towers, Amy was tucked into bed hearing of how Athena won the favor of Athens against the mighty but foolish God Poseidon. 

“Can I help you?” the girl asked. Despite the solemnity of her gaze, she couldn’t be much more than 15 or 16.

Amy blinked herself out of her thoughts and smiled disarmingly. A tall man appeared over the girl’s shoulder in the doorway before Amy could answer. He squinted at her for a long moment before realisation brightened his features. “Amy?” he asked. 

“Do I know you?” Amy replied. He was handsome enough that she was sure she would recognize him if they had met before.

“Not really,” the man replied. “I’m Simon. A-- a friend of Kieren’s. I helped him take you to the clinic when you were...” 

“You were the ones who found me rabid?” 

Simon nodded. 

Amy swallowed. This new knowledge sat heavily in her decrepit stomach. Kieren hadn’t said anything about finding her when she was like that; why? Was he ashamed of it? Of her?

After an uncomfortable silence, Simon said, “You’re here for Kieren?” 

“Yes. He hasn’t returned any of my calls. I was worried.” 

“He’s out with a friend for a bit,” the girl interjected.

Amy looked turned her eyes back to the girl and realised then that she must be Kieren’s little sister. Amy offered her hand to shake and watched as she looked at it blankly for a moment before tentatively reaching out to respond to the gesture. “Jem, right?” 

She must have been surprised, but she kept her face carefully neutral when their skin made contact - Amy imagined her hand felt like the frozen fish she liked at the market. 

“Kieren talked _loads_ about you when we were in hospital together,” Amy said. 

“Really?” Jem replied. Her eyes warmed slightly. “I remember Kieren mentioning you. He went to your funeral.” Jem’s mouth twisted right after she’d gotten the words out, clearing regretting having been so blunt. 

“He made good on that promise, did he?” Amy beamed. “I said I’d haunt him if he didn’t show up.” 

“He did.” Jem was still eyeing her like at any moment she might turn rabid, but she no longer seemed hostile. “So... I guess you could wait inside. My parents aren’t in, but Kier should be back soon.”

The Walker house was warm inside. It looked lived in and comfortable in a way the bungalow hadn’t been since her nan died. Amy immediately felt at home. 

Jem stood around for almost a full minute of awkward silence before sidestepping around Amy and walking off into the next room, throwing a “You can wait here,” over her shoulder as she went. Simon was left alone in the living room with her. Rather than shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as someone else might do when left alone with a complete stranger - let alone a dead one - Simon extended a hand to her. Amy shook it eagerly, ignoring the small part of herself that was apprehensive. People were very rarely nice to her these days. 

“It’s nice to formally meet you,” Simon said. 

“Likewise. Last time you saw me I was a tad... indisposed.” Amy grinned at him and finally let go of his hand. “So, am I correct in assuming that you’re the same Simon who Kieren mentioned to me? The one who _saved his life_?” 

Simon flushed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck self-consciously. “Er... yeah. That’s ancient history, though.” 

“No it’s not, dumb-dumb!” Amy said, smacking him lightly on the arm. “People don’t just forget a thing like that.” 

“Right,” Simon said sceptically. 

“You would do well to trust me. I’ve been told on more than one occasion how wise I am.” 

Simon squinted at her for a long moment as though he wasn’t quite sure whether or not she was being serious. Amy grinned as wide as she could in the hopes that it would help him relax a little. Soon, the stiff line of Simon’s shoulders softened. He sat down on the sofa, and Amy took that as her cue to do the same. 

“So, what brings you to dreary little Roarton, Simon?” 

“Kieren,” Simon answered without hesitation. He sounded sincere enough, but there was a hint of guilt in Simon’s expression; he was withholding something from her. 

“That it?” Amy asked gently. If he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t prod. But he did look like he needed someone to talk to. 

“My parents kicked me out. I didn’t really have anywhere to go.” Simon said. He looked surprised after the words came out, like he hadn’t intended to be so forthcoming. 

“Oh,” Amy said, frowning. “Did they kick you out because of the whole--” She waved her hands vaguely in Simon’s direction. She wasn’t usually one to be evasive - in fact, classmates had told her on several occasions that she was too blunt - but something in Simon’s face was fragile just then, and Amy could be sensitive when the situation called for it. “Because you’re with Kieren, I meant.” 

Simon was dumbstruck for a moment before his voice splintered over a laugh. “No,” he said. “No, the opposite actually. My mum was thrilled when I said I’d found someone. She doesn’t care about my... my proclivities.” 

“As well she shouldn’t,” Amy said firmly. Simon’s expression shifted into a tentatively grateful smile, but it was still guarded. Amy took the hint and decided not to push it. “And whatever got you kicked out - well, that’s in the past. Kieren likes you, so that makes you good people in my book.”

“I appreciate that.” Simon cleared his throat. “Kieren had been wanting for me to meet you. I think you’re his best mate.” 

“BFFs,” Amy agreed proudly. “We established that back in the hospital before I croaked.” 

“It’s good he has you,” Simon said. 

Amy beamed at him, and Simon ducked his head in response. Before either of them had a chance to say anything, there was the soft scuffle of footsteps heading in their direction. Simon looked up just as Kieren walked into the living room. Neither of them had heard him come in, but that wasn’t really a surprise. Kieren was normally a pretty quiet person whenever he moved about, but now he seemed possessed of an almost phantom-like stealthiness. 

Beyond that, his eyes were dazed. Vacant. It was a chilling call-back to the time before Simon had really known him, when Kieren had just been released from the hospital after his suicide attempt. 

Amy, disregarding the heavy silence that had fallen between them all, burst up from her seat on the sofa and strode over to where Kieren stood. She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed tight as if hoping to startle him from his reverie. 

“Kieren! I’ve been out looking for you for hours. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kieren murmured absently, staring over Amy’s shoulder rather than at her face. 

“You are,” Amy agreed, “and your new beau is too. When were you going to let me meet him?” 

Kieren blinked, his gaze drifting over to Simon as though he’d forgotten his existence for a few moments. Simon tried on a weak smile, and Kieren just barely managed to return it. There was a glint in his eyes - something like apprehension. 

“Sorry, Amy. Something came up with Rick,” Kieren said mechanically. His eyes darted towards the stairs like he wanted nothing more than to make a break for it, but he made no effort to move. 

“It’s okay.” Amy patted Kieren on the cheek. “Lucky for you, I’m a very forgiving person.” 

There was another stilted silence in which Kieren stared at the carpet pattern for a long minute and Simon picked at the fraying fabric of his sleeves. 

“Simon,” Kieren croaked eventually. “Can I speak with you?” 

“Of course.” Simon walked over to Kieren, taking care to leave a few feet of distance between them so as not to make him uncomfortable. “What is it?” 

Kieren chewed on his bottom lip for a second, considering. Amy looked back and forth between them several times. “I’m going to go see if Jem needs help in the kitchen,” she finally said, beating a hasty retreat. 

As soon it was just the two of them, the careful mask on Kieren’s face cracked. Simon was touching him before he’d even made the conscious decision to do so, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his lower back. 

“What happened?” Simon repeated. 

“I met with Rick.” Kieren’s eyes were cast away, trained on the floor. Simon didn’t try to make him look up. Simon often felt safer when he didn’t have to stare at someone directly and figured Kieren did too. “We talked some things through. He was honest with me for the first time in a while.”

“That’s good,” Simon said, smiling genuinely. He was glad that Kieren was able to re-forge that connection. But that didn’t explain the tension pulling the skin taut around his eyes. “Am I correct in assuming that’s not what has you so upset?”

“Yes.” Kieren swallowed and said quickly, like he was ripping off a bandage, “I-- he-- _we_ kissed.” 

“Okay,” said Simon, who had been expecting something like this. He was suddenly much more grateful for the lack of eye contact. 

“Aren’t you going to...” Kieren gestured vaguely with one hand. 

Simon shrugged. “What? Yell at you? Get mad?” He huffed a half-hearted laugh. “He’s your best friend, Kieren. You’ve loved him longer than you’ve known me.” 

Kieren’s head snapped up. He trained a fierce glare on Simon which didn’t let up until Simon finally looked at him. “This isn’t a _contest_ , Simon.” 

“I know that.” It didn’t have to be. Rick would always win out against a homeless ex-junkie who was pushing 30. 

“Do you?”

They stood for several moments in silence. Kieren was looking at him with those huge doe eyes like he expected something more from him. It made Simon’s skin itch. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe Rick is better for you?” Simon said finally, tired of evading the truth. He could tell immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. Kieren’s eyebrows drew together closely like they only did when he was truly baffled by something’s stupidity. 

“Have you ever considered that maybe I know what’s best for myself?” Kieren snapped. 

Simon grimaced. “Look, Kieren--” 

But Kieren was not finished. He shook free of Simon’s grip and carried on, “And have you ever considered that I have the capacity to love more than one person at once?” 

All words of protest dried up on Simon’s tongue. Simon’s jaw fell slack. He knew he was doing a poor impression of a fish, but horrifically, he couldn’t find it within himself to stop gaping. 

Kieren wasn’t looking at him. After a long moment of silence, he said, “I didn’t mean anything by that, okay? We can just pretend--” 

“No,” Simon interjected. “No pretending. Please.” God help him, he’d had enough of playing pretend. Enough of running away. 

“Fine.” Kieren swallowed, then adopted that stupidly endearing determined look that suited him so well. “I’ve been... clear about my feelings for you for a while. It doesn’t change anything about what happened with Rick.” 

Simon noticed Kieren’s careful avoidance of the word ‘love’, but he didn’t push it. He wasn’t quite sure he was even ready to say it himself, though he was at least knew himself well enough to know how much he fucking cared about Kieren. 

“Do you need time? With Rick, I mean. To figure out where you stand with him.” 

“Maybe.” Kieren bit his lip, suddenly looking every bit the boy that he was. “Yes.” 

Simon could read between the lines. Kieren was insecure about their own relationship; he wanted to know that Simon would still be there regardless of how long it took for Kieren to suss out whatever was between him and Rick. 

Simon lessened the distance between them with a step forward. In no time at all, Kieren was following suit, inching closer until their chests were touching. He dropped his head on Simon’s shoulder and exhaled. Simon brought his arms around Kieren briefly, taking care to remind himself that polite company was just in the other room. 

“Thank you for being so good about this,” Kieren murmured tiredly. The moodiness that had been itching under his skin from the moment he walked in seemed to have disappeared entirely.

Good about this? Simon could have laughed. It was a miracle that Kieren cared enough to keep him around in the first place.

-

The woman at the shelter told Gary he had a phone call around evening. She didn’t seem happy about it, but that was no surprise; the line for the phone stretched all the way down the hallway and around the corner. It was even longer than the line for neutrotriptyline shots. 

“Make it quick,” she hissed, passing him the phone with a barely concealed sneer of disdain when their skin brushed. 

Gary snatched it from her and grunted an unintelligible greeting into the receiver. 

“Gary?” the person on the other end asked. Familiar, but not a voice he would have recognized if he hadn’t been expecting the call. 

“Yeah.” 

“Sorry, I would have called earlier but I had to--” 

“Ye hear anythin’ about a place?” Gary interrupted.

“Yes,” Kieren answered hesitantly. “There’s a man named Geoff Winfrey just outside of Roarton who’s renting out a small flat. Interested?”

“Not like I have a choice,” Gary snapped. 

Kieren was silent for a moment, presumably collecting himself. “Just say that you’re an old mate of Steve Walker’s.” Then he rattled off the address fairly quickly and hung up. Gary rolled his eyes. Even dead, he was still less of a wanker than Kieren Walker. 

Gary stole a pen from behind a volunteer’s ear and jotted down the address on his forearm before he forgot it. He wasn’t exceedingly familiar with the area, but outside of Roarton there were just empty farm lots for kilometers in every direction. It wouldn’t be difficult to find. 

-

Geoff the landlord did not have kind eyes. Gary did not particularly care for kindness, but it was still unpleasant to look him in the eye. 

“What’re ye here for?” Geoff grunted upon Gary’s arrival. He was a portly man in his mid-forties who looked like he made a habit of wearing too much flannel. He was leaning against the doorframe to a grotty old house with one hand curled into a fist at his side. Gary couldn’t help but think the picture would look more complete if he was clutching a shotgun and chewing on tobacco. 

“I’m a mate of Steve Walker’s. I was told you had a cheap place for rent.”

Geoff coughed out a hacking laugh. “If ye could call it a place at all, I s’pose I do.”

“Anything’ll do,” Gary replied. 

“If ye say so,” Geoff said, still laughing. He pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and let the screen door slam behind him as he stepped down from the porch. As he got closer, his eyes narrowed. He stopped just short of knocking Gary over. “Yer one of those dead’uns, aren’t you?” 

“What’s it to you?” 

The man gave him a long, thorough appraisal, and Gary felt his hackles raise. “Jus’ wondering. That changes things a tad. Word is I can’t legally rent ye a place.” 

“What are you on about?” Gary asked, patience thinning. 

“Well, yer not technically a person, according to the law.” 

“That’s a load of bollocks,” Gary growled. Not a person? Wasn’t he standing here right now, breathing and moving around just like everyone else?

“Sorry, lad. I got no beef with yer kind, but it’s been all over the news lately. And with that pro-living party making all of that noise about coming down to Lancashire to round ye all up...” 

Gary grit his teeth hard enough that he would have probably tasted blood. “You can’t spare a room? Or anything at all?” 

“Well, no,” Geoff said slowly. “But there is an old building just a kilometer down the road. Used to be a packing warehouse. It’s unoccupied now, far as I know. I wouldn’t mention it to no one if ye decided to shack up there for a while.” 

“Great,” Gary said flatly. He turned around and left Geoff standing there alone. 

The old warehouse really wasn’t a very far walk at all. It was a stark metal singularity amongst endless stretches of grassy field - a sagging, dilapidated building that had probably been a depressing piece of architecture from the moment of its conception. Gary nudged open the rusted side entrance door roughly enough that it slammed on its hinges, making an awful screeching sound echo inside the empty place. It was damp inside, but not as filthy as he expected. 

“Home sweet home,” Gary muttered, setting down his duffel. To his right there was a rickety staircase that led to a second floor, and in the far left corner there was a pile of scrap wood that looked like it could serve as a good base for a mattress. He was halfway through sorting out the unusable rotted bits of wood when a heavy plank slipped out of his fingers and fell on his foot. He flinched out of reflex, though the pain was not nearly as sharp as it would’ve been if he were alive. “Ow! Fu--” 

“Need a hand?” 

Gary spun around. A tall man with dark hair and white pinprick eyes stood a few feet away. “Who the fuck are you!”

The man shuffled closer and held out a hand. “Julian,” he said. Gary stared him down until he dropped the offered hand and backed up a little. “It seems you’ve stumbled upon our humble abode. I know it’s not much,” he shrugged, “but it’s home. You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable here, but I do ask that you make our acquaintance first.” 

“ _What_?” Gary bent to pick up the plank that had fallen on his foot and seriously considered hitting Julian over the head with it. 

“You’re like us,” Julian continued, undeterred. He smiled and his teeth were whiter than his ashen skin. “We welcome you.” 

“I’m not...” Gary meant to disagree, meant to protest, but Julian just kept on smiling. He gestured upstairs, where Gary could hear others shuffling around now that he was listening for it. Julian held out his hand again, and Gary found himself unconsciously stepping forward. 

“Come meet the others.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT PSA: Okay not that important but still. I, um. I'm also an artist? Or at least I just graduated from art school. SO I kind of made my own fan art for my own fanfic lmao. I didn't want to post it directly in the fic, at least not yet, so instead I made an ITF art sideblog on tumblr @ rendoesart.tumblr.com. So all of the stuff I post is "in character," as though Kieren was actually running the blog and not me (i know it's cheesy; bear with me). Anyway, it'd be cool if some of you checked it out! I have stuff on there that corresponds to stuff in the fic. 
> 
> sorry this took another month to be published. school is over and i'm officially graduated as of a few weeks ago so that should hopefully free up more writing time, though I'm currently working on my DCBB at the same time. It's a bit hectic. 
> 
> As always, thank you guys so much for sticking with me. More Simon/Kieren soon. <33
> 
> P.S. Julian was the guy who delivered the message to Simon about him having to kill Kieren and all. Like, he literally handed him a bunch of pointy objects so Simon could choose which one to spear Kier's brain with. Remember that? Yikes.


	21. And The Lord Taketh Away

_The ground beneath Kieren’s feet was wet. When he inhaled, the air smelled of earth. He looked down and saw soil. The ground had likely been dampened by rain. The smell was so pervasive that he could taste the dirt on the back of his tongue, chalky and bitter._

_He lifted one foot out of the soil and it squelched with the movement. Wetter than he had thought. He could barely make out his feet, but they felt soaked and filthy, bits of dirt clinging unpleasantly between his toes. He put his foot back down and felt himself sink that much deeper into the ground. The ends of his trousers were soaked through. He shuddered and tried to move again, finding it suddenly difficult._

_He inhaled again. More dirt on his tongue, this time slightly metallic. Another attempted step. He sunk deeper. Another step. Deeper still. There was a sudden chill in the air that rattled his bones. He was almost gagging on the scent in the air now. It wasn’t just the dirt. There was something-- something else. Something almost familiar._

_It was like--_

_He stopped struggling to move. It was like the scent of rot. Animal decay. He swallowed. The taste of dirt, blood, rotting flesh. Pervasive panic. He lifted his foot again, desperately wanting to run. The soil released him for a moment and he lunged out of its grasp only to catch his toe on the edge of something solid that sent him stumbling to his knees in the mud._

_Air was suddenly hard to come by. Kieren opened his mouth as wide as he could and heaved for breath. A burst of adrenaline sent him scrambling to his feet again, but he felt himself losing his footing almost immediately and threw his arms out for balance. His fingertips brushed against a hard object with sharp corners. Exhausted, he bent to press his feverish forehead against the blessed coolness of the object._

_It was overcast; there was only enough light to see what was just in front of him, so he let his hands do the exploring instead. The object felt like it was made of stone, and there were some kind of indentation engraved on it. He traced it carefully, dread pooling in his stomach all the while. The indents were lettering; two distinct words._

_The clouds abruptly parted to let the moon peek through. He blinked as his surroundings came into focus. In his periphery he could suddenly make out hundreds, maybe thousands, of identical tombstones which surrounded him and stretched on as far as he could see in either direction. Before him, a single gravestone. He had been right._

_Two words:_ Kieren Walker. 

Kieren woke up with bile surging in his throat. He scrambled to turn the lamp on and almost knocked it to the floor in his hastiness. The panic barely ebbed with the lights on. 

Before he tried to kill himself, before Simon found him, before the rising, before everything, he had been able to talk himself out of the fear that simmered in his gut whenever he was alone in the dark, or whenever a nightmare threw him cruelly into uneasy consciousness. But the rules had all changed. 

The shadows in Kieren’s room lengthened at night as they always had, but these days when his eyes played tricks on him Kieren found it much harder to rationalise. The dead had walked the earth. Two of his closest friends were reanimated corpses. What else was possible? What other secrets had the world kept from sight? 

He thought of going downstairs to Simon, but figured he had already bothered him enough for one lifetime. It was too humiliating a prospect to go to his parents for help. He was an adult, and adults did not sleep at the foot of their parent’s bed when they were scared. There was no one else. Jem was out of the question. He was her big brother, and though she was strong and capable, she still looked up to him. He didn’t want to shatter any illusions she might have of him being brave. 

He would deal with this nightmare himself. First, he got out of bed and turned on every single light in his room. That was marginally better, but he still didn’t see himself feeling safe enough to go back to sleep. It was three in the morning. There wasn’t anything to do except-- except something he hadn’t done in a very long while. 

The oil paints tucked away under his bed were dusty, but no less vibrant than they had been a few years ago. He got a frayed old brush, a palette knife, and a canvas from the stash in his closet, took a deep breath, and set to work. 

-

Simon knocked on Kieren’s door early the next morning, nearly crawling out of his skin with the need to leave before he overstayed his welcome, but not wanting to abandon Kieren before he said goodbye. He hadn’t even planned to stay another night, but after Amy had left after dinner, Kieren had looked so forlorn that he couldn’t imagine walking out just then. Plus, Sue had given him that imploring look again, and Steve had been just as cordial and casual as always, not caring much either way. And so he had slept on the sofa once more with a promise to be out before breakfast. He would stay a few days at the B&B until the cash in his wallet dried up, maybe find a job at the Save’n’Shop or some other local business. 

When Kieren did not answer the door the first time, Simon knocked harder. He was on the brink of giving up when a muffled “Come in,” finally drifted out into the hallway. 

The room was as bright as Simon had ever seen it, and in the middle of it stood Kieren, whose back was turned to him. In one hand he was clutching a palette knife like it was a lifeline, in the other he held a messy palette. In front of him was a large canvas that nearly dwarfed his slight frame. His hand was moving rapidly between palette and canvas, almost violently slashing paint onto every virgin ich of the canvas, turning white into dark blues and browns, accenting shapes in shades of black. The contrast between the darkness of the canvas and the brightness of the room was jarring. 

Simon shut the door behind him before he stepped any closer. Kieren barely flinched at the sound. His movements were jerky and sporadic. He seemed to have no particular plan mapped out for the painting, no references, nothing. 

When Simon got close enough, Kieren whipped around so suddenly that Simon jumped. His face was manic, and there were bags like deep bruises under his eyes. His body shielded most of the canvas, but Simon could make out the sharp edges of what looked like a tree from over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing here?” Kieren asked, voice chillingly monotone.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Simon said gently. “I came to say goodbye before I left.” 

“Oh.” Kieren seemed to deflate, then. “I must’ve lost track of time.” 

“Have you-- have you been doing this all night?” Simon gestured to the wet canvas.

“I’ve been at it for six hours,” Kieren said. He shook himself like a dog coming in from the rain and glanced nervously over his shoulder. “It’s rough. Unfinished. I wasn’t really planning on showing it to anyone. Ever.” 

“Of course. No pressure,” Simon said. “Can I just ask what inspired you? You told me you hadn’t painted in years.” 

“Um, I had another bad dream and thought this might help me to... to get it all out, I suppose.” Kieren shrugged. “I used to paint my nightmares a lot as a kid.” 

“Did it help this time?” 

Kieren sucked his lower lip into his mouth and looked over Simon’s face contemplatively, hesitating before he could get his next words out: “See for yourself.” He stepped out of Simon’s line of sight and let him take in the full painting. Simon immediately got the sense that Kieren was sharing a huge part of himself, and so regarded the canvas with an open, kind gaze. 

Though the paint had clearly been slashed onto the canvas without regard for consonance, each separate part of the painting somehow coalesced to form a cohesive entity. At the top of the canvas, angular branches shot out from the trunk of a spindly tree. Beneath that, there was a wooden casket from which golden light brilliantly emanated. The casket loomed above the head and shoulders of a gaunt boy. It was meant to be Kieren, Simon realised, but it was also not him at all. The skin of this Kieren look-alike was painted in a mottled purple-gray with tints of yellow, white, and blue underneath. Not-Kieren’s eyes were closed as if in sleep or death. On either side of the head, there was a blackened hand that looked as though it was descending upon the boy’s shoulders.

The most striking feature of the painting, however, was the pair of stark white eyes that peered out from between the tree branches, wide open and watching. They were uncomfortable to look at for too long, as they inspired an overwhelming feeling of dread in the pit of Simon’s stomach. 

Simon took a step back and returned his attention to Kieren, who was biting his nails and looking for all the world like he wanted to evaporate into thin air. Every moment of silence seemed to make him more anxious. Finally, he blurted out, “It’s sort of a mix of a bunch of the nightmares I’ve had over the past few months, not just the one I had last night. Once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop.” Kieren wrung his hands and laughed nervously. “I know it’s a little... obscure. I shouldn’t have even showed it to you. I’m sor--” 

“Kieren.” Simon’s breath caught in his throat. “This is incredible.” 

“I’m out of practice,” Kieren croaked, shaking his head. “The linework is terrible, the concept is disjointed, and I didn’t even use a proper reference.” 

“I know a lot more about poetry than I do art, but I can tell you that this is the most breathtaking painting I’ve ever seen.” 

“Okay,” Kieren said, shifting uncomfortably. “Well, it’s unfinished anyway.” 

“Is this what you’ve been seeing every night?” Simon changed the subject in the hopes of lessening Kieren’s discomfort.

“More or less,” Kieren replied quietly. “This painting is more what I feel than what I’ve seen, though. I couldn’t paint exactly what I’ve seen even if I tried.” 

“I only ask because those eyes are what I saw after I visited you in the hospital. The exact same ones.” 

“I thought they might be.” Kieren huffed a laugh. “This is so fucked. D’you reckon things are ever going to go back to normal?” 

“Not really.” 

The stood in companionable silence for a minute, thinking it over. It did seem unlikely that anything would start making sense. 

“Hey,” Kieren said. He had the look of someone who had just had a revelation. “Remember what you said to me on the phone the night I called you after a nightmare?”

“I told you I used to dream about my mother back when I got high. I said it was because of the guilt I had over hurting her.” 

“Yeah, and we came to the conclusion that guilt could be part of the reason I was having the nightmares. Because of what I-- what happened to Gary.”

“Where are you going with this?” Simon asked, suddenly very nervous. 

“I think I have to confess.” Kieren carded his hands through his wild tawny hair until it stood up comically. But nothing about what Simon was feeling was the least bit funny. His immediate instinct was to protest, but Kieren continued on with increasing fervor. “It makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? All this time I’ve been trying to run away from what I did, and now that Gary is back, it’s even worse. Seeing him in person again was worse than anything I’ve ever felt. Just knowing that I’m the reason he is the way he is... it’s going to destroy me if I don’t do something about it.” 

“Maybe we were wrong! Maybe it isn’t the guilt; maybe it’s something else,” Simon said frantically. He was almost shouting, and Kieren shrunk back from him like he’d been hit. It physically pained him to see Kieren hurt, so Simon switched tactics. “That’s how you’re going to make up for it? By telling Gary that you’re the reason he’s dead? If anything is going to destroy you, it’ll be that.”

“You don’t know that,” Kieren said viciously, eyes darkening. 

“Don’t do this, Kieren. _Please_. Gary is a loose cannon.”

“I have to. I’m the one who _killed him_ , Simon.” Kieren was almost crying now. “I’m the one who has to live with that. You may not understand, but I have to tell him. I _have_ to. It’s the only way.” Simon could see in his face that Kieren had absolutely made up his mind and nothing was going to change it now.

“Okay,” Simon agreed, though the word strained against every fiber of his being.

“And one more thing,” Kieren added, “I want to do it alone.” 

-

Men like Julian Redford had the world at their feet. At least that’s what everyone had told Julian from the moment he was born. His life was a recipe that had been perfected through many generations of the Redford family: wealthy, disaffected parents who raised him more with money than they did with love, an abundance of mates (all family friends) who only tolerated him because his father owned the town, and a strict education that left no room for actual learning. And all along the daily routine of people looking at his life and saying things like, _”You have so much potential, Julian. One day you will do great things, Julian. Great things.”_

Julian had started to wonder if ‘doing great things’ was a euphemism for hurting people. It was what his parents did to maintain their status, and it was what he was bred to do as well. For the Redfords, nothing was an obstacle. Not in life, and certainly not in death. Julian _was_ dead, of course, but only conditionally. And that was hardly an excuse to stop aspiring to greatness. 

In fact, death was anything but an excuse for him - it was a catalyst. The treatment center had been a chance to start over. No need to contact his family, no reason for them to know that he had returned from the grave. He was a new man with a taste for independence, and he would achieve greatness in his own way, Redford tradition be damned. 

Victor Halperin and John Weston were the first step. Julian knew the look of a crooked man, and Victor Halperin was as crooked as they came. When he first pulled Julian aside after administering the first few shots of Neurotriptyline and took him into the examination room, Julian had not been the least bit surprised to see a young woman chained up against a board, skin flayed open along her back to reveal her spinal column in gruesome detail. 

“This is our second successful patient, Subject 88. We’re keeping her longer for experimentation because she responded optimally to the treatment. She’s the perfect specimen; her neural connections recovered remarkably fast,” Victor had said. “But as you can see, things can get a little messy.”

‘Messy’ was a cluttered desk, not a macabre human dissection. But who was he to cast stones? “Why are you telling me this?” Julian demanded.

“I’m a doctor, Julian. I can’t do messy. I need someone on the outside to handle the less... medical side of things,” Victor explained vaguely. Julian was not convinced, and it must have shown on his face. “I used to work for your father,” Victor added casually. “Silas Redford was an interesting man.” 

“That’s one way to put it, Sir,” said Julian. “I overhead the other doctor saying I was your first successful patient. Is this why you treated me before the others? Because you recognized me and thought I could get you something? Money? Connections?”

“I know how powerful a man your father is, but that’s not why I chose you. You have potential, Julian. I saw it in you the moment we brought you here.” Victor said. “Dr Weston is not privy to all of the details, but I did tell him you were significant. I didn’t tell him exactly why, of course, but that can stay between us, don’t you think?” 

“Sure,” Julian agreed. 

“Good. I have a very important mission for you, Julian. Do you think you’re up for it?” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

Victor smiled and handed him a blue bottle. 

-

“What did ye say you were?” Gary asked. 

“The Undead Liberation Army. Newly christened. What do you think of it?” asked Julian.

“It sounds like something a complete wanker would make up,” Gary said frankly. A few eyebrows in the group went up. Someone muttered under their breath. 

Julian smiled politely. “Then call it the ULA, if you like.” 

“And yer what? Championing for undead rights? Ye do realise everyone with a pulse thinks we’re subhuman, right?” 

“We prefer the term ‘Undead’.” Julian shrugged and cracked his knuckles. “If I stabbed you in the chest right now, directly through your heart, you’d be just fine. That’s not human, but it’s certainly not _sub_ human. We are here for a reason far greater than you or I can comprehend. Our second life is a gift. Don’t you want to take advantage of that?” 

There were agreeable murmurs throughout the people sitting in a circle on either side of Gary. This was undoubtedly not the first time they had heard this spiel, but they all had a sparkle in their eyes. It was akin to the religious zeal Gary had seen in Vicar Oddie’s eyes during a sermon. Still, it was nice to be looked at as more of a comrade and less like the science experiment that everyone in Roarton seemed to think he was. 

“What’s in it for me?” 

“Why don’t you ask them?” Julian gestured to the others. They followed his direction like sunflowers chasing sunlight.

“Belonging,” someone offered up immediately.

“Family,” another person said quietly. 

“A sense of purpose,” said one man, louder than all the others. He had dirty blond hair, smiling eyes, and angry red ligature marks around his neck. Julian smiled especially wide at him. 

“And a shot at greatness,” Julian finished. “So, what do you think, Gary? Have we sold you?” 

“I don’t reckon I have much of a choice,” Gary said. 

“We are all here by choice.” Julian looked as close to offended as Gary had ever seen him. 

“Fine. Count me in.” Gary laced his fingers behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles. “What now? Do we go around eating people?” 

“Not unless they give us a reason to,” Julian said pleasantly, by which Gary suspected he actually meant ‘not yet.’ “However, there is something of a welcome ceremony for you. A formal induction, if you will.”

“Yeah?” Gary felt the scrutiny of ten eyes watching him. It felt like he was about to be tested, but he couldn’t imagine what an undead entrance exam would look like. 

“Frankie, will you do the honors?” Julian asked.

“My pleasure,” Mr Smiling-Eyes-Ligature-Marks said. ‘Frankie’ rifled through the pockets in his ripped trousers for a second until he came up with a small blue bottle. Gary had seen it before, in the treatment facility. His roommate had snorted it enough times for Gary to know that it was bad news. “One line will do the trick,” he advised, tossing the bottle to Gary. 

Gary caught it in his hands and twisted off the cap. Well, it hardly seemed like there would be a chance of him getting sent back to the treatment facility now. Might as well have a little fun. He tapped the open bottle against the flat of his palm and a pinch of blue powder spilled out. What the hell, Gary thought, leaning down to snort it quickly. It wasn’t like he could get any deader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's hard writing this fic sometimes, because i don't have too much to go on considering we only have 9 eps of canon and not a lot was explained about halperin & weston or the ULA. So some backstories - like Julian's - i just had to make up. I know he may not be a character that you really cared about, but it's really important to me that every character i write has a reason for what they do, and in order for that reason to be understood, sometimes i have to delve a little deeper into what I think might be the character's motivations, and that may include a brief introduction. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me thus far. A whole lot more drama & Siren to come. <3
> 
> ALSO if you are curious about the painting Kieren did in this chapter, check out my ITF art sideblog @ rendoesart.tumblr.com. I actually did an oil painting several months ago that fits the same description, except it's not nearly as incredible as Simon thought.


	22. Memento Mori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of violence, blood, guns, and vaguely homophobic insinuations. Um. I think that about covers it. Chapter title loosely translates to "remember (that you have) to die" and can also refer to "an object serving as a warning or reminder of death, such as a skull."

Kieren woke up to the sound of a familiar voice humming and equally familiar fingers carding through the closely-shorn baby hairs at the base of his neck. He arched gently into the touch, in no hurry to join the waking world.

“Hey,” a soft voice murmured. Kieren cracked open a single eye and saw Simon stooped over him, a faint line of concern drawn between his brows. He mumbled his acknowledgement and promptly put all of his energy into falling back to sleep, nosing contently into Simon’s warm stomach. “It’s mid-afternoon. Everyone’s up and about.”

“Good for them,” Kieren mumbled. His head lifted with each of Simon’s inhalations. Otherwise, he stayed as stubbornly still as possible. Simon’s fingers paused to tug at a stray lock of hair and Kieren was surprised by how good it felt. A line of heat, sharp and bright, unfurled in his gut. Kieren ignored it as best he could; now wasn’t the time.

“Your mum is going to eat me alive if I indulge you any longer. Time to get up,” Simon said.

“But m’tired.”

“I know. I stayed up all night with you, remember?” Kieren hummed an affirmation and continued doing his best impression of a ragdoll. “Okay. What will it take to get you out of bed?”

“You really want to know?” Kieren asked.

“Yes.” Simon could only see the half of his face that wasn’t hidden by his own jumper, but he still caught sight of the sly smile curling on Kieren’s mouth. He immediately realised his mistake in agreeing so easily; Kieren could be devious when he wanted to be. But what he asked was nothing like what Simon had been expecting.

“Sing to me.”

“ _What_?”

“Sing me something. You were humming before I woke up; what was that?”

Simon flushed. “Nothing. Just a tune my mum used to sing to me when I was a kid.”

“It was nice. Soothing.”

“You promise you’ll get up if I sing it?”

“Promise.”

“All right.” Simon wet his lips and drew in a breath. He hadn’t sung for an audience in a long time, but the words came smoothly, “Of all of the money that e’er I spent, I spent it in good company. And all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me,” he paused and looked down. Kieren had turned over and at was looking up at him with shiny eyes, wide awake. Simon cleared his throat and continued, “And all I’ve done for want of wit, to memory now I can’t recall. So fill to me the parting glass. Good night and joy be with you all.”

“Thank you,” Kieren said quietly. He slid off the bed in one sinuous movement and left Simon sitting there, suddenly cold where another body was no longer pressed against his. Something of his surprise must have shown on Simon’s face, because Kieren walked back to the bed and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his jaw. “I meant what I said last night,” he said as he pulled away.

“Hm?”

“I’m still going to talk to Gary.” Simon nodded, silent. He knew he wasn’t going to convince Kieren otherwise. “Are you mad?” Kieren asked, suddenly looking unsure of himself.

“No,” Simon replied honestly. “I understand. I’m just worried.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Kieren said lightly, but even he hadn’t completely convinced himself.

-

_The evening was like all of the others. Gary spent hours at the Legion with Daz and the other deadbeat townies, and drank until his head swam. When he finally stumbled his way back to his grotty old apartment, Vicky had taken one whiff of his breath and thrown a fit. The months of tension that had been brewing between them boiled over all at once. Gary made his usual excuses, Vicky called him on his shite, and Gary got loud. She threw a vase at him; it shattered three inches from his head. He thought of hitting her, of putting her in her place, but his head was spinning so much that he had a better chance of punching through the plaster wall._

_With a parting “fuck you,” Gary slammed the door on his way out and left Vicky to stew in her anger all alone. She’d come to her senses eventually, Gary was sure. Just like she always did._

_The town seemed quieter in contrast to the shouting match he’d just had, almost as though the whole of Roarton was waiting with baited breath. Gary did not let this unnerve him; he had spent plenty nights roaming the town at night in a similar state. He had never before felt threatened and could not understand why anyone would. As a rule, Gary detested the kind of people who were afraid of the dark. Pansies, the lot of them._

_Gary wandered the residential streets for a long time, but after a few hours the monotony became tedious. When the sun began to set overtop the houses, Gary turned and headed toward the fringes of town, hoping to catch a mate on their way out of the Legion so he could ask to crash with them for the night. He was getting too old to sleep on park benches anymore._

_He was halfway to the pub when something in the cemetery caught his eye as he walked past: a small figure huddled against a tombstone. Roarton was small enough that when someone died, everyone knew it, and oftentimes half the town showed up to the funeral. But Gary didn’t remember hearing news of any locals dying recently._

_He drifted into the graveyard without making the conscious decision to do so. The soil squelched beneath his feet. He sunk a little deeper with each step, but paid it no mind. The figure still hadn’t noticed him. When he got close enough, he caught sight of a gray jumper and a characteristic mop of tawny hair that only belonged to one resident that Gary knew of._

_“Oi, Walker!” Gary shouted. “That you?” The figure’s head lifted; it was definitely Kieren._

_“I’m not looking for any trouble, Gary.”_

_Gary stumbled close enough to see the weary resignation in Kieren’s face. It ignited something cruel in his chest. He could fool himself into thinking it was leftover anger from his fight with Vicky, but sometimes Gary just liked to revel in the simple pleasure of seeing other people crumble beneath him._

_The next few minutes were a blur. He said some things that made Kieren’s face screw up indignantly, and Kieren gave just as good as he got. Gary must have gone too far because suddenly Kieren was slapping his hand away, snarling at him. Gary felt absurdly proud of being able to get a rise out of him; he was one of the few people who usually failed to react to Gary’s tormenting. Tonight was different. Kieren was distraught, off-kilter._

_Gary pushed Kieren with all of the force he could muster in this state, and he fell to the floor with a satisfying thud. Seeing that his chest and stomach were exposed, Gary kicked out, but the mud made it so that keeping his balance was nearly impossible. Kieren wriggled away from him but he lurched forward doggedly in pursuit. Then Kieren abruptly stuck his leg out, and Gary tripped over his ankle, his momentum working against him._

_The world turned upside down. A sharp burst of pain bloomed at the base of his skull and radiated outwards until his entire head was on fire. Time slowed; a small eternity passed between his last inhalation and exhalation. Everything went dark. He concentrated on his remaining senses: the feeling of still-warm blood slicking his shoulders and trickling down his spine; the heaviness in his limbs, like he was being dragged down by an invisible force that had laid claim to every molecule in his body; the deafening rush of his frantic heart in his ears, eking out its last few beats._

_He had been told once that dying would feel like peace, but all Gary could feel was a pervasive, inexorable fear that writhed within him like a living thing. The rest of his senses faded one by one, until he was blind and deaf and numb and, above all, alone._

_Then there was nothing._

-

The veil lifted all at once. Gary blinked, and the room came sharply into focus. Everything had a halo of light around it. When had everything gotten so incredibly bright?

A smiling face materialized before him. “Welcome back, mate.”

There was a smattering of applause from around the room. Someone whistled loudly. Gary flinched. “What was that?” he coughed, unexpectedly drained. His voice felt like it didn’t belong to him.

“You ate the magic bean.” The smiling man laughed, and it was like the clanging of church bells - jarring yet strangely entrancing. He shook the opaque blue bottle from before and Gary’s eyes followed its movement reflexively. “What did you see?” he asked, amused. “Was it the whole coffin thing? Trust that memory to fuck you up good. See, I was lucky. Nobody ever buried me. Just left me there to r--”

“Oi, Frankie! Spare us this time,” a redheaded woman barked.

The man, Frankie, tucked an errant blond lock behind his ear, smile turning sour. He shifted his shoulders and Gary caught sight of the angry rope burn on his neck. It all came back to him, then - Julian, leading Gary to a room full of people like him, being offered a chance of redemption. Belonging somewhere for the first time in his life. The man with ligature marks offering him the blue bottle.

“What did you see?” Frankie repeated.

Gary remained silent. The memory felt hazy and far away now, but he remembered falling. He remembered the blood and the cold and the terror. He remembered that Kieren’s face was the last thing he had seen before it all went dark.

“Out with it, mate. We don’t got all day,” Frankie said impatiently.

“I remembered dying,” Gary finally snapped.

Frankie’s eyes lit up again. “Oh yeah? That’s a good one. Most of us still haven’t recovered that memory.”

“Is that what that shit does, then? Recovers memories?”

“It’s a little different for everyone, but Blue Oblivion tends to enhance us. Sharpens our senses. Heightens our instincts.” He paused, mouth curling into a wicked grin. “Whets our appetites.”

Oh, Gary had worked up an appetite all right. Thinking about Kieren made his incisors ache with the primal urge to bite, his hands clench with the urge to maul. Kieren had taken something from him - something he would never get back - and Gary intended to get his dues.

-

Kieren was glad he’d had the foresight to write down the address of Geoff Winfrey’s flat. It was about a forty minute walk outside of Roarton. He left immediately after dinner, hoping to be back home before everyone was asleep. He’d told his parents he was going to visit Amy, and they had looked wary but let him leave without protest. They were probably grateful, at least, that he was maintaining friendships.

He knew abstractly that it was a stupid idea to leave without telling them where he was actually going, but he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse as to why he would be visiting Gary, of all people, unprompted. Besides, Simon knew where he was. And though it wasn’t like Kieren to be reckless, he felt in this instance that it was unavoidably necessary. The need to confess before he lost his nerve greatly outweighed his sense of caution.

Twenty minutes into the walk, a familiar car engine sounded in the distance. Kieren turned on his heel just in time to see his family’s old junker tearing ‘round the bend. He felt a surge of unbridled anger. Had Simon told his parents what he was up to?

But when the car got closer Kieren could make out only one figure behind the steering wheel, and it was Simon himself. He rolled down the window and slowed the car to a stop.

Kieren raised his eyebrows wordlessly. Simon gave him a half-smile and gestured to the passenger seat. “I respect you wanting to do this alone,” he said, looking almost sheepish, “but it’s a long walk. Let me at least drive you there. I’ll stay put.” Kieren stared him down sceptically. “Scout’s honor,” Simon said, putting his hand over his heart.

Kieren hesitated a second more before climbing into the car. After all, Simon had driven all this way. Speaking of driving... “How did you manage to get the car?”

“I, er, told them I was going flat hunting. Your mum lent me the keys for the night.”

“Brilliant,” Kieren said wryly. Simon looked at him from the corner of his eyes and smiled faintly. Kieren could tell he still had a bad feeling about all of this. “Don’t worry about me, Simon. Gary is mostly harmless.”

“I hope you’re right.”

The rest of the drive passed in silence. When they got there, Simon parked several meters away from Geoff’s flat and let Kieren get out. He knocked twice on the door and was startled when a drunken old man stumbled to the door.

“Er, I’m here for Gary? Gary Kendal. I’d like to speak with him.” The man’s face screwed up in confusion, but Kieren continued, “He’s a little shorter than me. Dark hair, blue eyes, facial hair.”

Something like recognition dawned on the man’s features. “Ah, the rude bloke from the other night. I sent him to an abandoned place just down the road. Can’t rent to his kind.”

Kieren wondered if it was really _can’t_ or simply _didn’t want to_. He supposed it didn’t make much of a difference. “Thanks,” Kieren said. The man jutted his chin out in acknowledgement and disappeared back inside.

Kieren walked back to the car and explained what Geoff had told him, and Simon drove him the short distance to only other building in sight, just down the road as Geoff had promised. He pulled into the abandoned car park and cut the engine.

The warehouse building, though hulking in its expanse, gave the distinct impression that it was sagging under its own weight. It looked empty from the outside, and when Kieren knocked on the side entrance door, no one answered at first. He waited, then knocked again, then waited. Nothing.

Frustrated, Kieren tried the knob. The door opened easily. He glanced over his shoulder at Simon, who was gave him the thumbs up. _What a fucking dork_ Kieren thought. He rolled his eyes fondly waved before he went inside the building and let the door swing shut behind him.

The first room he entered was dark, and there was a damp chill in the air that settled immediately into his bones. He made as much noise as he could as he shuffled about, hoping not to unintentionally sneak up on Gary or catch him unawares. But there was no sign that anyone had been living here. Nothing stirred. Kieren wished he’d brought a torch. This was starting to feel like one of those bad horror flicks.

“Hello?” he called out.

There was something - an echo of a muffled sound, almost like a snicker. Kieren paused for a beat. And then there were several hands on him all at once.

-

The old warehouse had one thing going for it: excellent acoustics. They all heard the car approaching a minute before it actually appeared in the lot. Immediately, whatever interest the others had taken in Gary’s recollection of his Blue Oblivion trip evaporated. They abandoned him to flock around the window eagerly, shoving each other in their haste - all but Frankie, who remained perched in front of him, clearly above the idea of staring out the window like an excited pup.

Gary got the sense that they had all been holed up here for a while, and it wasn’t often that they got visitors.

“S’probably just that old man from that place up the road. He comes sometimes to make sure we haven’t burned down the place,” Frankie said, yawning.

The only other one who stood apart from the crowd was Julian, who leaned on the wall adjacent to Gary, watching his clamouring flock like a proud sheppard. He noticed Gary looking at him and said, “Why don’t you go see what the fuss is about?”

Gary felt compelled to listen to him. He ambled over and carelessly nudged a few of the others out of the way, but he couldn’t see much more than shapes from this height. There was a vaguely familiar car sitting in the lot, but he couldn’t tell who was sitting in it. Soon a thin figure emerged and began to make their way to the entrance.

Gary could make out colors in the waning light. The figure had on a beige overcoat and maroon trousers. Gary did a double-take. He had seen those goddamn trousers before somewhere. For a second, he couldn’t place the familiarity. Then it clicked. Gary couldn’t believe his luck. Kieren had delivered himself right to Gary’s front door, on this night of all nights. It was meant to be. “That’s him,” he said incredulously, louder than he had intended.

“That’s who?” the snarky redhead from earlier asked.

Gary couldn’t stop the smile from stretching his lips wide. He must have looked manic. The others once again turned their attention towards him, intrigued. Even Frankie’s interest was piqued. “Kieren Walker. That’s the scum who killed me.”

A hush fell over the room.

“What is the righteous course of action here?” Julian asked. All eyes were on him in an instant. “What do you think the Undead Prophet would say about this?”

“Above all, he wants us to fulfill our greatest potential, yeah?” the redhead piped up.

“Yes, Alana. Precisely,” Julian responded. “The only way to do that is to reassert our place in this world. To take back control from those who have robbed us of agency,” Julian continued. “Who amongst you have felt powerless in the past few months?” Most of the hands went up. Gary watched the proceedings disbelievingly. “Good. Our chance to start changing that has just arrived. This is only the beginning. Let’s help Gary find his footing in this Brave New World, shall we?”

There was a chorus of agreement from the small gathering. The only one who didn’t have that glazed-over, worshipful look in his eye was Frankie. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable for the first time.

Before Gary could dwell on that, he was being swept out of the room along with the others. Julian was leading the charge. They crept down the hallway silently, footsteps light on the metal staircase; Gary lagged behind slightly, still bewildered. Before he could catch up, Frankie grabbed his wrist and tugged him a few feet away.

“You ever kill a man before?” he whispered. Gary couldn’t make out his expression, but he sounded scared.

“No,” Gary said. Though a couple of fights at the Legion had gotten close.

“Then you have no idea what you’re getting into,” Frankie hissed.

Gary shook his grip off, annoyed, and walked off briskly. The others were a few meters ahead by now. Frankie jogged to his side and stopped him again with a hand on his shoulder. “Well, I have, okay? I’ve killed someone, and it’s not something you want to live with. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” Gary snarled. He shoved Frankie in the chest. “Trust the guy who made me relive my death and then had a laugh about it? What do you know?” He turned and started walking again. “Besides, this isn’t murder in cold blood. This is getting even.”

Frankie didn’t bother him after that. Gary caught up to the rest of them where they had paused to perch silently on the top landing of the staircase, watching as Kieren spun in circles below, disoriented. He called out a confused “Hello”, and Alana the redhead smothered a chuckle in the crook of her elbow. Julian began to inch his way down the stairs. They all followed him in a single-file line.

Kieren unwittingly drifted closer to them with every step. Julian watched him like a predator stalking his prey. Half a step closer, and he lunged; his arms had him immobilized within seconds. The others grabbed onto any part of Kieren they could reach. Gary stood back, waiting for Kieren to stop struggling. He wanted to watch him find out what it was like to feel completely helpless.

After a good ten minutes of writhing and kicking to no avail, Kieren went limp. Satisfied, Gary took his place in front of him and grabbed a hold of his jaw.

“Lights,” Julian growled.

Someone turned on a lamp. The room was bathed in a dim glow. Kieren’s eyes popped open and met Gary’s dead gaze. He went pale. Then he turned his gaze to the others who were crowded all around him, and to the two people holding him down, and he went paler.

“Gary,” Kieren swallowed. “What is this? Who are these people?”

“We’re his friends,” Julian answered.

“Okay,” Kieren said steadily, looking between Gary and Julian like this was some kind of misunderstanding. “You can let me ago. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just came to-- to speak to Gary. I need to tell him something.”

“Come to confess?” Gary snarled. His fingers tightened around Kieren’s jaw; it must’ve been painful, because he began to tear up. “Save it. I know what you did.”

Kieren dropped his eyes, looking appropriately ashamed. “Gary, I’m so--” Gary pulled his other hand back and hit Kieren hard in the temple, cutting him off. Kieren reeled for a moment, biting his tongue to keep from making noise. Eventually, he tried again, weaker this time, “I didn’t mean to. You have to know that. I’d do anything to take it back.”

“Too bad you can’t. Too bad it’s too--” Gary pulled his hand back, “--fucking--” he landed another punch, this time to Kieren’s cheekbone, so hard his head snapped back with the force,“--late.”

“Do we have to brutalize him?” Every turned hard stares on Frankie, who was standing out of Kieren’s eye-line, tucked into the shadows, with his arms wrapped around himself. “If we’re going to kill him, shouldn’t we just... get it over with?”

“It’s up to Gary how he wants to reclaim his power,” Julian said curtly. “We have no place in deciding that.”

Gary’s knuckles were split; they’d be throbbing if he were alive. He studied Kieren’s face. He was bleeding from a moderate abrasion on his cheek, and the thin skin under his eye was beginning to swell. His temple would bruise. A part of Gary - a very small, buried part - felt an unexpected surge of pity for Kieren. They had grown up together in the same shitty town, after all, though he had a few years on the kid. They had never been friendly, but there _was_ a time before Kieren had started presenting himself as ‘different’ when Gary hadn’t hated him. He did feel some residual sympathy for that boy, but not for--

“Do you feel as though you’ve avenged yourself, Gary?” Julian asked.

\--not for the boy sitting in front of him who was responsible for his death.

“No,” Gary answered firmly.

“Alana, would you fetch me my bag?” Julian implored. Alana was gone and back in what felt like an instant. She handed off a large duffle bag to Julian without comment. He rooted through it for a moment before coming up with a parcel bundled in gray felt. He passed it to Gary.

Gary unraveled it unceremoniously and was not sure why he was surprised to find a selection of surgical tools and knives inside. Kieren jerked violently at the sight, and the people holding him down had to twist his arms behind his back and bring him down to his knees to keep him from escaping.

Gary chose a long serrated knife with a black handle and threw the rest on the floor. This one looked like it would have no trouble cutting through flesh, and though he wanted revenge, he didn’t want it to get too messy.

He gripped the knife firmly and was about to bring it down when--

“Before you make the first cut,” Julian interrupted, “let’s all say a prayer to the Prophet.” Everyone simultaneously bowed their heads and whispered under their breaths, even Frankie. There was that name again - ‘Undead Prophet’. Gary had no idea what the hell these people were on about. “Okay.” Julian exhaled. “He’s yours.”

Gary twisted the knife in his hand and considered. Which was the easiest way to kill a man? He had failed basic anatomy and didn’t have the slightest clue, but going for the throat always seemed to work in the movies. Then again, that promised a lot of blood, and he didn’t have a change of clothes. He couldn’t very well go outside looking like he’d botched a surgery. “Any last words? Requests?” Gary retorted sarcastically, stalling for time.

“I’m not going to beg for my life, if that’s what you’re asking.” Kieren was glaring up at him defiantly, and it made Gary squirm. The Kieren he knew was a pansy, so why wasn’t he acting the part?

“You don’t deserve to. You’re pathetic.”

“That’s all you’ve got?” Kieren was speaking like he was the one holding the knife now. Any trace of fear had disappeared from his eyes. “What do you want, Gary? Do you want me to console you? Make you feel better about what you’re about to do? You’re a bully. You always have been. That guy over there is right. This isn’t even about revenge; it’s about you exercising your power over me.” Kieren bowed his head, caught his breath. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. My intention was never to-- to kill you. It was an accident.”

Gary took a deep breath and said, “Let him go.” The two holding Kieren down exchanged glances and didn’t budge. “Killin’ him while he’s restrained is a pussy’s way out. I want to fight him.”

The members of the ULA murmured amongst themselves, hesitant. But Julian looked proud. Gary felt grimly satisfied at his own idea. He wouldn’t have suggested this if he didn’t know that he would win. Kieren was a scrawny pacifist; it wouldn’t take much to bring him down. When it was all said and done Gary would look honorable and righteous - noble, even.

“An admirable choice,” Julian said, spreading his arms. Everyone backed away simultaneously, forming a loose ring around Gary and Kieren. Julian nodded to the people holding Kieren down and they released him swiftly, without comment. Kieren shook himself like a dog coming in from the rain and got to his feet. Gary dropped the knife, bracing himself. If there was one thing he had learned from pub fights, it was that you didn’t bring a weapon to a fist fight. Besides, it didn’t look like Kieren even knew how to make a fist.

Neither of them moved for a good minute. Finally, Gary became impatient and made an attempt to rush him. Kieren ducked out of the way easily, hands loose at his sides, face neutral. Gary came for him again and Kieren spun to dodge his fist. _Fuck. The little bugger was fast._ Gary grit his teeth and feinted left before aiming an underhanded punch at Kieren’s stomach. It hit him squarely in the gut, and he doubled over with a choking noise.

The mood in the atmosphere shifted; he could feel the anticipation in the air now. When Kieren eventually straightened, holding his hand protectively over his stomach, Gary landed a punch on his nose that made him stumble with the impact. Blood sprung forth suddenly and messily, and Kieren spat as it got into his mouth, painting his teeth red. He shuffled backwards warily, trying to put distance between them, but Gary kept advancing, grinning now. For the first time since he’d bled out in a cemetery, Gary felt _alive_. He was sure if his heart was still beating there’d be a rush of exhilaration in his veins.

When Gary came for Kieren again, he was relentless. He brought down an elbow on Kieren’s back and Kieren dropped to his knees with the force, coughing violently. Then a kick to the stomach. And another. Another. He was coughing up blood now. Gary’s head spun with the thrill. He paused for a moment to survey his work.

Kieren immediately went limp, and for a moment Gary thought _that’s it? it’s over?_ , and felt almost disappointed at how quickly it had ended. But the next moment Kieren was rolling quickly to the side and reaching out lightning-fast to grab the knife that Gary had dropped earlier. His grip was white-knuckled, but his hand remained unnervingly steady. He thrust the blade out in front of him like a shield and met Gary’s eyes. He wore the look of a cornered animal. Gary had hunted before; he knew how dangerous those types could be.

He took a step back and cursed himself for dropping the knife so close by, let alone at all, half-wishing someone would step forward and restrain Kieren again long enough to disarm him. No one made a move to do so, and Gary could guess why. Julian was standing a little ways away, watching the whole ordeal like he had front row seats to an olympic sporting event. There was something in his posture that was at once both massively entertained and incredibly dangerous. He got the feeling that Julian would not hesitate to shut down anyone who dared step forward in Gary’s aid.

Gary circled Kieren slowly, looking for an opening. Kieren followed his movements closely, brandishing the knife like a life line. But he was still grounded. Gary had the upper-hand. If he could just get him on stomach--

Kieren used his brief second of distraction to lunge for his ankles from behind. Gary was so caught off guard that he tripped. There was no tombstone to brain himself against this time, but falling flat on his back still knocked the breath out of him. Kieren had a knee in his stomach and the knife to his neck before he could move.

Slicing his throat likely wouldn’t kill Gary - he didn’t have to breath, after all - but he would still choke on lungfuls of his own decaying blood. And the knife was long and sharp; if Kieren brought it down with enough force... well, Gary was pretty sure that decapitation was on the short list of things that could kill the undead.

“Turn over,” Kieren said, voice wavering. Gary complied grudgingly. Lying on his stomach made him about a thousand times more vulnerable. Kieren was straddling him, and the knife was poised at the base of his head now, uncomfortably close to where the doctors at the treatment center had stitched bits of his brain back into his cracked skull.

“This must be a position yer well familiar with, aye?” Gary retorted. “But I reckon yer usually the one on the bottom.”

Gary expected a vicious response, but Kieren was silent. Finally, in a very small voice, he said, “I don’t want to kill you.” He looked up and addressed the others. “I don’t want to kill him. Please, I _don’t want to_.”

Gary craned his head and saw Julian kneel in front of them. He looked Kieren directly in the eye and smiled patronizingly. “Gary made the choice to fight you. His second life is in your hands now, so finish what you started,” he paused, “or I will personally end both of you.”

“Fuckin’ traitor!” Gary barked. “You called us _family_ a few hours ago.”

“The Undead Prophet is merciful to honorable men, Gary. You are not honorable. All you’ve done tonight is prove yourself incompetent. We don’t take kindly to that here.”

“Fuck you,” Gary spat. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck y--”

-

It had been over a half hour. The sun had completely sunken below the horizon by now, and with each passing second Simon felt the itch under his skin intensify. If we went in, he risked Kieren’s wrath - or worse, his disappointment. But what if Gary had reacted violently? What if Kieren was being choked or beaten to death just a few meters away while Simon sat idly in the car? He’d rather live with Kieren being upset than dead.

Simon flung the car door open and was halfway to the entrance when he heard shouting. He looped back around to the car to grab the small pistol from where he’d stashed it in the glove compartment and tucked it into his waistband before taking off for the door at a run. He kicked it open unceremoniously and the shouting abruptly stopped. Around ten pairs of white eyes turned to look at him. It took Simon’s vision a moment to adjust. At first he thought he was seeing things, but no, that was-- that was Kieren, kneeling in the middle of a circle of PDS sufferers, holding a knife to Gary’s head.

Kieren looked up and met his gaze. His jaw fell slack. The knife clattered to the floor, forgotten. In an instant, Gary snatched it and threw his arm back, slashing wildly. Kieren jumped off of him to avoid being stabbed, and Gary took the opportunity to scramble to his feet.

They were facing each other now, Gary with the knife aimed two inches below Kieren’s sternum and Kieren frozen, staring between Gary and Simon like he was hallucinating.

In one fluid movement, Simon slid the pistol from his waistband and levelled it at Gary’s head. “Put the knife down.”

Gary bit out a furious curse and threw the knife to the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. Simon stepped forward, and the group parted for him. Up close, Simon could make out the blood on Kieren’s face. It was dried on his cheek, his mouth, his chin, and under his nose. There were flakes of it on his shirt, too. In a few hours his left eye would be completely black. Simon could tell by the way that Kieren was barely holding himself up that he was probably bruised to hell, too, and he cursed himself bitterly for not interrupting this sooner.

Gary, by contrast, scarcely had a mark on him. Simon stepped between them and adjusted the grip on his pistol. Flicked the safety off. Pointed it squarely at Gary’s head. One shot through the forehead to slow him down. Another shot beneath his ear, through the brainstem, to permanently put him down. The HVF had taught him well.

Simon had never felt any sense of relish while killing the undead, even when his comrades whistled and patted each other on the back after each successful kill. It had just been a matter of survival to him. But this... this he suspected he would enjoy immensely.

Simon set his finger on the trigger, but before he could put any pressure on it, Kieren’s hand wrapped around his bicep.

“Simon, don’t,” he pleaded.

Simon couldn’t look at him. Kieren could convince him of anything, but he swore he wouldn’t be swayed on this. He should have put Gary down a long time ago.

Kieren swung himself in front of Gary just as he was prepared to shoot. Simon took a step back, heart catching in his chest. Kieren stared past the barrel of the gun and straight at Simon. “Don’t,” Kieren repeated, voice steadier now. “He’s a person too. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. Killing him is no better than killing someone with a beating heart.”

“But he hurt you,” was all Simon could think to say.

Kieren’s eyes softened. He put his hand on the barrel of the gun and flicked the safety back on before guiding Simon’s arm back down to his side. “I know. And I hurt him, too.”

Gary was staring at Kieren, stunned. He looked at the knife on the floor but made no attempt to pick it up again.

“This complicates things.” A tall man with dark hair stepped out from behind Simon and went to stand next to Gary, slinging an arm casually over his shoulder.

“Who the hell are you?” Simon asked.

“I’m Julian. And you are?”

“Simon.”

“Listen, Simon, I don’t want any trouble. Why don’t we call this a draw? Everyone goes home in one piece.”

Simon took another look at Kieren, nodded slowly, and said, “Yeah, okay.” Kieren broke out in a smile that warmed him to the core. How someone could be so uncomplicatedly _good_ was beyond Simon. Kieren didn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. Simon put his arm carefully around Kieren’s waist and began to lead them away.

A voice stopped them millimeters away from the exit. “He’s lying, you know.”

Simon stopped breathing. He knew that voice. He could keep walking, but Kieren had already stopped to look over his shoulder curiously, and Simon was addicted to - among other things - making bad decisions. He turned around.

Frankie stood half in the shadowy corner of the room and half in the lamplight. He looked smaller than Simon had ever seen him, and somehow even worse than when he had been two shots of heroin away from death. Still, Frankie mustered a weak smile and elaborated, “He’s going to kill Gary the moment you two leave.”

“You’re smarter than you look, Frankie,” said Julian, “but you overestimate my patience.” Before anyone could react, the arm Julian had around Gary’s neck became a chokehold. Gary let out a soundless cry, and Simon had to physically hold Kieren back so he couldn’t intervene.

Julian was swifter than he looked; Simon barely saw the knife until he had already plunged it six inches deep in Gary’s skull. Julian exhaled and released Gary, who fell to the floor at once. “I did what I had to do. For the greater good. For all of us,” Julian said. He looked at each of his ten companions in turn. “People like him don’t belong here.”

The implication was clear. Julian’s followers all nodded, including Frankie. No one wanted to be next in line to have their head impaled. Kieren slumped against Simon’s chest, defeated.

Simon turned away from Frankie’s gaunt face and half-carried himself and Kieren to the door through which he had entered. The next few minutes were a blur, but eventually they were sitting safely in the car, not looking at each other. Kieren wiped miserably at the congealed blood on his mouth and closed his eyes. “Let’s just go home,” he said quietly.

And they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for accidentally turning my fic into Fight Club. This chapter was a hell of a monster to write.
> 
> It's been a little quiet lately in the comment section, but I love you guys regardless. You still with me? ~85k words in and we're finally getting closer to our conclusion... 
> 
> P.S. The song Simon sings at the beginning of this chap is called the "Parting Glass," and it's an old Irish song for - you guessed it - parting. Can you guess why I used it?


	23. Veritas

“You did _what_?” Sue asked, incredulous. 

Simon shifted uncomfortably on his feet. In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to take Kieren home without cleaning him up a bit first. The full force of the Sue Walker’s glare was focused solely on Simon. Kieren had already dropped off into a doze on the sofa. Steve was standing beside Sue, hands loose and helpless at his sides, face white as he studied his son’s bloodied face. 

“Kieren went to talk to Gary after dinner, and I followed him with the car. He was taking a while, so I went in to check on him. I pulled him out when I saw Gary hurting him. I didn’t know it was going to get violent. I’m so sorry, Sue, Steve. I-- I should have never let him go in the first place.” 

Sue scrubbed a hand over her face, as uncomposed as Simon had ever seen her. “You’re not his keeper, Simon. Kieren is an adult. When it comes down to it, he is going to make his own decisions, irresponsible or not. But,” she paused, eyes straying to Kieren’s bloodied face, “I wish you had told us where he was going beforehand. I assume you knew?” 

“Yes,” said Simon quietly.

Jem, who was tucked into the corner, staring at the scene they made from across the room with dark eyes, spoke up for the first time: “Aren’t you going to do something? Take him to a hospital or whatever?” 

“No hospitals.” They all turned to look at Kieren, who had said the words through what sounded like a mouthful of gravel. He tried to sit up, but every movement made him cry out a little. Sue put a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him back into a flat position. “I’m okay,” he added. 

Jem scoffed loudly. “You look like shit.” 

Sue cut a sharp glance at her daughter but didn’t seem to have the strength to reprimand her for her language. “There’s a lot of blood on you, love. You need to be looked at.” 

“Nothin’ broken,” Kieren slurred. 

“Don’t be a dickhead. You could have internal bleeding,” Jem countered, simmering with rage.

“I’ll take him to the clinic,” said Steve. It was the second word he’s said all night. The first had been a distraught cry of _’Kieren’_ when Simon had carried him inside. 

Kieren didn’t protest, seeming to sense that his family would argue with him on this until they were out of breath. From the looks of it, he had no fight left in him. 

Simon handed the car keys over to Sue as Steve bent down low to scoop his son into his arms. But Kieren just shrugged him off and slowly, excruciatingly propped himself upright. “Don’t carry me. Jus’ help me walk.” 

Steve did so, acting as a crutch for Kieren to lean his weight on as he got off the sofa. Sue appeared on his other side and helped to support Steve, and soon they were moving as a unit of three to the front door. Simon looked between them and Jem, but she remained perfectly still, seething quietly to herself. She didn’t look like she would be budging anytime soon. Simon studied her for a long moment before following Sue and Steve out the door and down to the car. 

Sue paused by the doorframe and looked at Simon over the car roof. “Simon, I think maybe it’s best if you don’t...” 

Simon nodded, a knot in his throat. He had half-expected this: rejection. The Walker family had been nothing but kind to him thus far, but they had limits too. He began to back away from the car when Kieren said clearly, “I’m only going if Simon comes.” 

Sue and Steve glanced at each other. Then Sue nodded once and got into the driver’s seat. Simon helped Steve very carefully slide Kieren into the back seat before following him in himself. Kieren rested his head on Simon’s lap the whole drive there. 

-

“We need to speed things up. I should film another video.” 

“Patience, Julian. I told you from the very beginning that this would require restraint. I haven’t planned for a new video yet, and you can’t film one unscripted.” 

“Are you listening to me, Victor? The others are getting restless,” Julian paced the length of the linoleum floor and found that it did nothing to clear his mind. He stopped, straightened. Reminded himself: _I am in control._

“Last time we spoke you said you had everything under control.” 

Julian could have laughed. Sometimes he wondered if Victor had injected him with a telepathic implant and was monitoring his thoughts. “Things have changed,” he finally said. He paused, held his breath, continued, “I may have stirred the pot.” 

An exasperated sigh. “How so?” 

“Gary Kendal is dead.” 

A pause. The sound of papers being shuffled. “Let’s see... Subject 83. Heavily intoxicated upon time of death, no living relatives, slow to respond to the first dosage of Neurotriptyline. Ah, well. He wasn’t terribly important in the long run.” 

“You’re not going to ask how he died?” 

“I trust you had your reasons,” said Victor primly. “Now, you mentioned that you had an encounter with Subject 91?” 

-

At the clinic Dr Russo looked Kieren over as thoroughly as he could with a whole queue of PDS patients waiting to get their Neurotriptyline shots or prescription refills. Every night had been hectic at the clinic since the rising, and he was one of the only doctors left on staff who was even half-qualified to deal with it. One of the other doctors had been fired months ago for malpractice; some just couldn’t adapt to the idea of treating the undead. Dr Russo saw the whole business as more of an adventure than a chore - a scientific curiosity, if you will. At least that’s the sense that Kieren got while listening to Dr Russo chat idly about the day’s events as he set up a curious looking machine beside the examination table. 

“An ultrasound machine,” Dr Russo explained, upon seeing Kieren’s sceptical glance at the offending object. “Not just for pregnant women, you know. It also happens to be very helpful in determining whether or not there has been an abdominal hemorrhage. If so, I’m going to have to refer you to a hospital, I’m afraid. Internal bleeding is no laughing matter.” 

Kieren closed his eyes and tried desperately to shut out the rest of Dr Russo’s ongoing monologue. It worked for a while. By the time he came back to himself, Dr Russo was wheeling the ultrasound machine away. After the worry of immediate danger was put to rest, he listened to Kieren’s breathing and heart rate for a long while. Then he poked and prodded at his ribcage until Kieren curled away from him, wincing deeply. 

“Ah, there it is.” _There what is?_ Kieren wondered morosely. He wasn’t entirely convinced he hadn’t died back there in that warehouse, because this was undoubtedly Hell. “Well, the good news is nothing is broken, but the tenderness in your ribcage does indicate a fractured rib or two. Your lungs and heart seem to be in good condition. But you mentioned head trauma earlier - you may have suffered a minor concussion. You’ll have to have someone wake you up every two hours tonight to ensure that you don’t fall into a coma - don’t worry, that’s only a precaution!” Dr Russo was sunny and smiling like this was merely a routine checkup. “I’ll just patch up a few of the abrasions on your face and you’ll be good to go.” 

“Great. Thanks,” Kieren muttered. He pictured his parents sitting silent as death in the waiting room, and Simon sitting across from them with his head bowed, the picture of guilt. He had wanted Simon to come in with him but Dr Russo had said it was best if he worked without distraction. Shame, because he could have used a hand to hold throughout this whole ordeal. 

In the end Kieren left the clinic with three stitches in his cheek and a recommendation to get as much rest as he could. That wouldn’t be a problem; he felt like he could sleep for a millennium at least. His parents didn’t speak to him the whole ride back. 

When they got home, Jem was nowhere in sight. Sue said, “We’ll talk about this later, Kier. Get some sleep for now.” Kieren started up the stairs with Simon at his side. 

-

Kieren’s sleep was fitful and short-lived. Through determination, he had managed to drift into a hazy sort of limbo that teetered on the brink of daydream and coma, only to be nudged awake an hour or two later by a concerned Simon. Kieren felt nothing of the lazy contentment that he had that morning, and so seriously considered telling Simon to fuck off. 

But that wouldn’t be fair. He got himself into this mess in the first place, and Simon was only trying to look out for him. With that in mind, he forced himself to pry his eyes open. 

“The doctor said--” Simon started sheepishly. 

“I know,” Kieren interrupted. “No more than two hours of sleep at a time for the first night. And you have to ask me simple questions - here, I’ll save you the trouble. My name is Kieren Walker, I’m currently lying in my bed after being beaten by the man whose two deaths I am both responsible for, it’s--” Kieren glances at his alarm clock, “--currently two am, and I’d like to go back to sleep now, thanks.” 

“Kieren.” 

“ _What_?” 

“Do you want... I mean, is there anything I can do?” 

“No.” Kieren swallowed passed the burning in his throat. “No, there really isn’t. Thank you, Simon. I’m sorry I asked you to stay tonight. I should’ve just gotten my mum to watch over me.” 

But the thought of Sue sitting at his bedside all night, quietly disappointed in him and worrying, had made Kieren feel sick. And besides that, there was something about Simon that made him feel inordinately safe. Not that he was about to admit that aloud. 

“I would’ve offered anyway,” Simon said quietly. 

“I know.” Kieren had no idea what about him inspired that kind of devotion in Simon. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” 

“Not really.” Kieren sighed. “But I suppose I should.” 

Simon folded his legs onto the bed like he was settling down for a long tale. Kieren drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms them. He licked his lips and began, “I thought no one was there when I first arrived. It was dark. Quiet. Then out of nowhere there were hands on me, and the next thing I remember is looking up at Gary’s face. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him. He told me... he told me that he knew what I’d done. He remembered. Then he was hitting me. Someone gave him a knife. He was going to kill me right then, but he decided it would look better if he fought me instead. The rest is a blur.” 

“When I came in you were holding the knife,” Simon said softly, no hint of accusation in his tone.

“I...” Kieren stopped, cleared his throat, wrung his hands. “I tried so hard not to fight him, Simon. But I was so selfish; I knew he was going to kill me, and I couldn’t... I couldn’t let that happen. So I grabbed the knife, but I couldn’t go through with it. I just wanted to leave. I just wanted-- but they wouldn’t let me-- and now-- now he’s dead for good, and it’s my fault _again_ , and I can’t-- I can’t--” 

“Hey, Kieren. Kieren!” Simon had both hands on his shoulder now, anchoring him. “ _Kieren_. Look at me. Fighting for your life wasn’t selfish, okay? You did the right thing. You were protecting yourself.” 

“Just like I was when I killed him the first time?” Kieren snapped sarcastically. 

“Yes,” said Simon. “Exactly like that.”

Kieren closed his eyes against the tears burning at his water line, but a few slipped out anyway. “I don’t deserve it, Simon.” 

“Deserve what?” 

“To be here,” Kieren choked. 

“Of course you do,” Simon said, distraught. 

“I’m not a good person.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of everything. Because when Julian killed Gary I was-- relieved. I didn’t want to kill him, but when he died, I was just so damn relieved. Like, like finally I’d be able to sleep at night without dreaming of him.” Kieren held his breath once the words were out. He tensed all over, waiting for Simon to push him away, waiting for him to be disgusted or upset or scared. 

But all Simon did was crawl under the covers beside him and pull Kieren’s face into his chest. “Can I tell you something?” he asked after a long silence. Kieren nodded. Simon’s heart tapped a steady rhythm against his cheek. Kieren let himself lie still, counting the beats. “When I went home and saw Frankie again, he told me he was dead, and a part of me was glad. I thought he’d been dealt what he deserved.” 

“But Frankie wasn’t a good person,” Kieren responded automatically. 

“Neither was Gary.” 

“Are you trying to say that I was justified in killing him?” Kieren asked incredulously. 

“Not at all. I’m asking you this: what difference does it make what kind of person he was or what kind of person you are? There’s no such thing as ‘deserving’ to live. We just live, or we don’t - good or bad. It’s not our place to decide.” Simon paused. “By the same right, you can’t decide that you don’t deserve to be here.” 

“It’s that simple, is it?” Kieren asked, half sarcastic and half awestruck. 

“It can be if you let it.” 

“Can I say that I don’t deserve you, or is that not allowed either?” 

Simon laughed outright, but not unkindly. “I’d say it’s the other way around, but we’ll be here all night if I argue that, won’t we?” 

“I’d imagine,” said Kieren. He drifted back off not very long after.

-

Kieren woke up for good at ten in the morning. Simon was sitting at the end of his bed with his guitar in his lap, fiddling with the tuning pegs and strumming absently. 

“I haven’t seen you touch that thing in months,” Kieren said, startling him. 

Simon dropped his hands guiltily, like he had been caught stealing. “Er, yeah. Haven’t really had occasion to.” 

“Play something,” Kieren said, smiling encouragingly. “You look like you want to.” 

“I only know a few songs,” Simon admitted, but he put his hands on the guitar neck regardless, fingers passing contemplatively over the frets. Eventually, he settled his hand into a complicated shape - Kieren’s area of expertise was art; the technicalities of music were beyond him - and began to strum. For a few seconds, a rich melody filled the room. Then Simon’s fingers stumbled and he immediately dropped his hands back to his sides. “I’m out of practice,” he muttered. 

Kieren urged him to try again, but Simon steadfastly refused. Eventually they were able to come to a compromise: Simon would play for Kieren one day, but only if after he’d had a chance to practise, and Kieren had to drop the subject altogether in the meanwhile. Kieren couldn’t really argue that any further - he understood what it was like to want to keep your craft private until it was honed into something not quite so personal and raw. That’s why he hadn’t hung up any of his recent paintings; they felt too revealing. Putting them on display would be akin to stripping his soul bare for everyone to see. 

“I understand, you know. If you’re not ready.” 

“Doesn’t seem fair to hold out on you. You let me see your art on a fairly regular basis,” Simon pointed out. 

Kieren shrugged. “I have no reason to hide from you.” 

Simon shuffled closer on the bed and touched their foreheads together. “Kieren,” he began.

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the turning of the door knob and a loud, familiar voice exclaiming, “Kieren Walker!” Kieren turned his head so quickly he almost head-butted Simon, and Simon backed off immediately. Amy bustled over to them quickly, petticoat hitched up with one hand, other hand propped on her hip. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?” 

Kieren opened his mouth and gaped uselessly for a moment until Amy lost her patience with him and turned to Simon instead. “Hello, Simon,” she said calmly. “Do you care to explain what happened to him?”

“I-- I got into some trouble with a local. It’s not a big deal,” Kieren explained hastily. “How did you know to come here?”

Amy didn’t look entirely convinced that Kieren was telling the truth, but she didn’t press the issue. “Simon called me from your mobile earlier this morning,” she replied. 

Simon hurried to explain himself: “I just thought, she’s your friend and she was probably getting worried, and it had been a while since you’d seen her, so...” 

“It’s okay, Simon.” Kieren turned to Amy, who was scrutinizing him with a gaze that said she saw far beyond the armor he wore on the surface. “I appreciate you being here, but I’m afraid I’m on bed rest until my ribs heal.” 

“I didn’t come to take you on an adventure, silly. I just want to have a chat, if that’s all right with you.” 

Simon took his leave quietly, without interrupting them. The only indication that he’d left was the soft sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

“Yeah,” Kieren said quietly, chastened. Then, clearing his throat, he asked, “How have you been?”

“Oh, the usual - dodging Roarton trolls, impromptu dance parties with myself, visiting my nan every Sunday. It is a bit lonely without you ‘round.” 

Kieren smiled wanly. “Really? Miss my shining wit, do you?” 

“I’ve missed _you_ ,” Amy corrected. 

“I missed you too, Amy.” Kieren tried to shove down the prickling heat at the back of his neck that the words evoked. Sometimes the truth felt too big for his skin and it made him itchy, like an ill-fitting woolen sweater.

“Promise not to get into any more street fights before we can take Roarton by storm again?”

Kieren grinned for real this time. “Promise.” 

-

Simon was sitting on the sofa staring at a blank TV screen when Amy finally came downstairs. She’d been up there with Kieren for almost an hour. 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

Amy paused mid-stride. She had a peculiar expression on her face that Simon couldn’t place. “I should be asking you that. The past few days can’t have been easy for you.” 

Simon shrugged. “I’m just worried about Kieren. Do you think he’ll be all right?” 

Amy sighed and took a seat on the sofa beside him. “Has anyone ever told you what an incredibly unselfish person you are?”

“Oh, no,” Simon said, smiling self-deprecatingly. “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.” 

“That’s a travesty,” Amy declared. “And I suspect Kieren will be okay as long as we’re around. He likes to act very independent, but truthfully, he needs us as much as we need him.” 

“You, maybe.” Simon swallowed. “All I’ve done is bring him trouble.” 

“Oh, Simon. You’ve brought him much more than that.” Amy’s mouth pulled down at the corners, and it looked so unnatural on her that Simon wanted to take back what he’d said if only to see her smile again. “Think about yourself for once. What is it you want?”

“You know,” Simon said, because of course she did. How could she not, when every moment he was around Kieren, want was written on his face plain as day? He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 

“I do know,” Amy said benevolently. “And what else?” 

“Nothing.”

“But there must be something else.”

There was. The truth of it burned in Simon’s chest like hot coals, the pressure so immense that he felt compelled to open his mouth - felt he had to tell the truth or die trying to keep it a secret. 

“Home.” Simon finally said. “I want to have a home again.” 

“Stay with me,” Amy replied immediately, like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

“I don’t have enough to pay rent. I couldn’t impose.” 

“But you wouldn’t be,” Amy said, voice gaining momentum as her eyes slowly lit up. “In fact, you could keep me company. The bungalow is lonely. You’d be doing me a favor.” 

“Amy...” 

“Please, Simon.” 

“You barely know me.” 

“I’ll _get_ to know you.” The look on her face didn’t leave room for discussion.

Simon threw up his hands. “All right. But I’m paying rent as soon as I find work.” 

Amy smiled.

-

If the clinic had been Hell, the next few weeks were purgatory. Kieren alternated between long bouts of sleep and stubborn fits of insomnia during which he nearly drove himself insane. The bungalow was a short walk from the Walker residence, which was fortunate because Simon was in and out of Kieren’s room more times than he could count. Sometimes he played guitar until Kieren fell asleep, sometimes he just sat quietly and watched him draw. 

Once, after much wheedling on Kieren’s part - he played the sick and injured card, he’s not proud to say - Simon even recited some of his poetry for him. He had a journal full of poems that he kept with him, but apparently he hadn’t had the inspiration to write seriously in years. “Heroin was my muse,” Simon had said with a little self-deprecating curl to his mouth.

Most of the time Simon spent the whole day holed up in Kieren’s room, but he never once stayed the night. Kieren was not sure what had changed. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. A lot had changed in the past month. More accurately, he wasn’t sure what in particular had finally sent Simon packing: the scathing looks Jem sent him every time they were in the vicinity of one another, like it was somehow Simon’s fault that Kieren had gotten hurt; the wary, almost disappointed look in Sue’s gaze; or the weighty baggage of Kieren’s feelings for Rick. Or perhaps it had been Kieren himself. Perhaps Simon had finally acknowledged that Kieren was messy and rough around the edges, and that he came with more trouble than he was worth. 

A part of Kieren had convinced himself that Simon was only still visiting him out of some misplaced sense of duty, like he thought it was his job to protect Kieren and now that he’d failed once he had to put all of his time into trying to make up for it. Kieren would have put him out of his misery, but he was afraid that if Simon realised that he didn’t have to play that role, he would leave for good. 

If there was anything he couldn’t take, it was that. Being left alone again.

Rick visited during the third week. Kieren had been so caught up in his own issues that he hadn’t even thought to contact him. Unfortunately, that backfired. Rick came unannounced; when he knocked on Kieren’s bedroom door Kieren automatically told the person on the other side to come in, thinking it could only be one of the three people in his household. 

Kieren didn’t even look up when Rick came in, too absorbed in his work. He was sprawled out across the bed sketching while Simon posed for him on a chair. (It had taken Kieren a good half hour to convince Simon that he needed the anatomy practice since it’d been so long since he’d taken that life drawing class in college. In the end he’d done such a good job of making himself sound pathetic that Simon even agreed to take his shirt off for “accuracy’s sake”.)

“Ren,” Rick said aloud. 

The pencil fell from Kieren’s hand. He turned his head slowly to face Rick and in his surprise could only get out a strangled, “Rick.” 

“Who hell is this guy?’ Rick asked, nodding at Simon. “And why is he...” Rick gestured to Simon’s bare chest. 

Kieren scowled vaguely at Simon, who had made absolutely no attempt to hide the fact that he was half-naked in the presence of company. “This is Simon. I’m... drawing him,” said Kieren, as if that actually constituted an explanation. 

“I’m Kieren’s...” Simon paused, looking briefly at Kieren, “Friend.” 

“Right.” Rick looked between the two of them sceptically before his gaze narrowed suspiciously on Kieren. “And what’s with the face?” 

Kieren fingered the healing cut on his cheek. The stitches were gone, but there was a raised red line left in their wake. His black eye had faded to its final color: an unpleasant shade of yellow. “Got beat up,” he replied. 

Rick blanched. “By who?” His were fists already clenching at his sides. “What the fuck? Who did this to you? Was it...” He went whiter, if possible. “Was it my dad?” 

Kieren sprung up from the bed and went over to put a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “No. No, Rick, I promise. It wasn’t him.” Rick looked unconvinced. “Simon, could you give us a minute?” 

Simon nodded, grabbed his discarded jumper, and left without a word. Rick began to pace. 

“Who was it, then?”

Maybe it was a bad idea to tell him the truth, but Kieren couldn’t help but think that he owed it to him. “I’ll tell you because I trust you, all right? This has to stay between us.” 

“Yeah, mate. I’m good at keeping secrets,” Rick said, giving Kieren a look that clearly said ‘you of all people should know that’. 

“It was Gary,” Kieren said in a rush. 

Rick blinked. “Gary Kendal?” Kieren knew they hadn’t been particularly close, but Rick had grown up around Gary, the only difference being that Gary liked him a lot better than he had liked Kieren. They had a history together that wasn’t solely comprised of insults and passive-aggression. When Bill had taken his son out to get drunk for the first time at fourteen, Gary had been there, cheering him on at the pub. It was a memory that two still laughed about years later. Kieren felt suddenly sick. “Why would he--?” Rick couldn’t get the words out. 

It was tempting - so, so tempting - to tell Rick a white lie: ‘Gary doesn’t like people like me, Rick; you know that’. Or ‘it’s not the first time Gary has picked on me’. Or even ‘I provoked him and he fought back’. Anything except what had actually happened. But when Kieren opened his mouth to explain, the truth was all that came out. He told Rick a brief version of what had happened in the cemetery, then about Gary coming back, the guilt Kieren had harbored all along, and lastly about the night at the warehouse. 

At some point during his explanation, Rick sat down on the bed, overwhelmed. He didn’t say a thing the entire time, and when Kieren was finally done, he just sat there quietly, unblinking. 

“Say something,” Kieren prompted nervously. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. Maybe he should have lied after all. 

“You said he’s dead now, right?” Rick asked finally. Kieren nodded. Rick took a deep breath and looked him right in the eye. “Good.” 

“What.” 

“He hurt you. He tried to kill you,” Rick said. “I rather you alive and him dead than the other way around.” 

“That’s it?” 

“I’ve killed my kind, too. I know what carryin’ around all that guilt is like. You did what you had to do to survive.” Rick smiled wryly, but his eyes were far-away, haunted. “I know a lot about that.” 

Kieren blew out a surprised breath. Somehow, dying had made Rick a lot more self-aware. “Um, thank you. For understanding.”

“Yeah.” Then Rick’s face shifted into an expression that was decidedly more sour. “What I don’t understand is why I haven’t heard from you in almost a month.”

“Sorry,” said Kieren earnestly, wincing. “I’ve been dealing with a lot.” 

“Been busy with _Simon_ , then?” 

“That’s not fair, Rick. I’m allowed to see other people.”

“So you are seeing him,” Rick said flatly. It wasn’t a question. 

“I think so, yes.” 

“How long?” 

“I’ve known him over a year.” 

“Christ,” Rick bit out. He looked like he was going to say something more, but nothing came out at first. He rubbed his hand over his mouth, swallowing compulsively. “Yer serious about him?” 

“He’s... he means a lot to me.” 

“Do you think things would have been different?” Rick asked after a long moment of intensely staring down at the floorboards. “I mean, if it weren’t for my dad an’ all.”

“I don’t know, Rick.” Kieren’s voice broke over the single syllable of his name. He stared at the wall behind Rick’s head, willing the weight on his chest to subside. 

Rick stood abruptly. “I’m gonna head out. Got things to take care of.” He walked to the door without meeting Kieren’s eyes. “See ya around, Ren.”

Kieren opened his mouth to respond and found the words stuck in his throat. “Bye,” he managed to squeak out after a long moment, but Rick was already halfway down the hall by then. 

Simon came in a moment later, fully dressed. Kieren put away his pencils and threw his half-finished sketch in the closet. 

“I can leave,” Simon began.

“You don’t have to.” Kieren fell back on his bed, suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted. “ I just...” 

“You just?” Simon’s gaze could be unnervingly astute when he wanted it to be. Kieren withered beneath it. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Kieren admitted. He hoped he didn’t look as very, very small as he felt.

“Neither do I,” said Simon. 

When Simon left that night, Kieren fell asleep alone and dreamed of bleeding out onto the cold floor of a cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Almost 3 months, huh?
> 
> I'm so sorry. In my defense, I just started college and between moving in, adjusting to an entirely different lifestyle (not to mention being away from literally everyone I care about), writing my minibang for DCBB, and doing actual school work... well, I've been just a little busy. I've had this chapter half-written for months, but I only ever got around to polishing it just now. I'm so sorry. I don't want this to happen again. I'm in the middle of midterms right now, but I'll try to be better next time. 
> 
> I hope some of you are still here. Don't let ITF die, guys. Remember how much it meant/means to us all?
> 
> Tl;dr: this fic is not dead and it won't be until it's finished or until _i'm_ dead. Whichever comes first.


	24. Overture

_Four Years Ago_

“It’s basic economics. You can’t have supply without demand.”

“You’re missing the point, Silas,” Victor Halperin said patiently. 

Silas Redford was a large man with slicked back dark hair and a heavy brown and a permanent frown. He was at least a head taller than Victor, but Victor was used to feeling small in stature and knew very well how to compensate for it in other ways. 

“Am I?” Silas boomed. “Tell me I didn’t make a mistake here, Halperin. Tell me I didn’t funnel thousands into a dead-end project so that you could muck about in your laboratory again.” 

“You didn’t make a mistake,” Victor said. “I have a plan.”

“You’ll have to excuse the fact that I’m finding it difficult to trust you. I haven’t quite forgotten your last science experiment,” Silas said crossly. 

“That was a practice run. This is the real thing. In fact, I’ve already begun the preparations.”

“Really? What is it, then? Nothing seems to have changed.”

“Oh, believe me.” Victor grinned. “When you see it, you’ll know.” 

-

Amy and Simon were like two ingredients that you wouldn’t expect to go together well, but somehow created a taste that was surprisingly tolerable and harmonious when combined. At first it was strange to share the same space and move around each other without colliding, but he never once felt unwelcome in the Bungalow. Amy had a way of making other people feel like they belonged, no matter how strange or out of place they really were. 

Most mornings she woke up before him, and by the time Simon stumbled into the kitchen to make himself tea before leaving to see Kieren, Amy already had a steaming cup waiting for him. 

“It’s no trouble,” she assured him. “I miss making tea. Besides, it’s not like I can drink it myself.” 

Though Amy was generally very open and accepting, she did not share much about her past with him. After three weeks of living with her, Simon knew only that she had died of leukemia and that her late grandmother had owned the Bungalow before her. He got the sense that she was waiting for Simon to betray her trust. He couldn’t say what exactly she expected him to do, but sometimes when he made sudden movements she would flinch away as if expecting him to strike her. 

On the Friday evening of the third week, as Simon was walking back to his room after having spent the entire day at the Walkers’, he passed by Amy’s room. Her door was wide open, and though he tried very hard to keep his gaze averted, something still caught his eye. A long, jagged black line stretched from the base of her neck, following the line of her spine to her lower back. It had been crudely sutured back together in a way that looked like it pulled her skin taut whenever she moved. 

Simon didn’t have time to do a double-take; Amy had spotted him at once. She finished buttoning her dress up hurriedly. When she turned to him, her face looked more melancholy than he had ever seen her.

“Did you see anything?” she asked, uncharacteristically subdued. 

“Er,” Simon answered. That was enough. The truth was written all over his face. 

Amy sighed and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt as she stood up. “That was a souvenir from the treatment facility. Don’t worry - it’s completely harmless.” 

Simon swallowed. “Right. Well, I’m sorry for...” What? Not announcing his presence when he’d walked in so that Amy had known to close the door? He waved his hand indistinctly, but she seemed to understand. 

“No worries. Just as long as you’re not too freaked out.”

“Not at all.” 

She was hesitating at the threshold of her room now, clearly unsure of whether to shut the door in his face or join him in the corridor. Simon began to roll up his sleeves without making the conscious decision to do so. Amy’s gaze followed his own down to his forearms. Several pale scars criss-crossed the translucent skin of wrists, tapering off towards the crook of his elbows. 

“You don’t have to be-- ashamed. Of your scars,” Simon said haltingly. 

Amy looked impossibly sad. She nodded silently and passed a cold hand over each of his wrists as if bestowing a benediction.

After that, she stopped being wary of him. 

-

_Three years ago_

“Distribution on that scale will cost a fortune, Victor.” 

“That will be nothing compared to the demand it generates, Silas.” 

“This is a huge risk for my company.” 

“You think I don’t have any stake in this? My entire career rests on this succeeding. My livelihood.” 

“Hm. And what of this new partner you’ve found?”

“John Weston. Reputable scientist and doctor specialising in pathology. I’ve established a rapport with him now. I have no doubt he’ll work with me when the time comes.”

“Send me the samples by the end of this week. I’ll have them ready for distribution in a month.” 

-

Kieren couldn’t exactly articulate what it was like to be in love. He was sure that he had been in love with Rick before he’d gone off and died, but then again what he was feeling for Simon now was... different, somehow, in some indefinable way. It wasn’t that he loved him any more or any less than he had loved Rick, but it was that the nature of his feelings were based on something foreign and altogether separate than what he felt for Rick.

Rick had been everything to him when they were children. That sometimes happens when you grow up so closely with someone else: they become your entire world. Roarton wasn’t a very big or open-minded place, and finding someone like-minded was like finding a bar of solid gold on the sidewalk. That is to say that Roarton had exactly one person in town that Kieren felt he could truly confide in (Jem was of course a candidate as well, but she had been too young for most of his tumultuous adolescence, and even now he didn’t want to burden her unnecessarily). 

He loved Rick like you might love your childhood home or your favorite and most threadbare blanket, in a way that felt familiar. He loved him in a way that simmered quietly and tirelessly in a place behind his ribcage. He loved him because it felt inevitable, a foregone conclusion.

On the other hand, Kieren loved Simon like - well, he wasn’t entirely sure. But it was terrifying. It wasn’t familiar, and it wasn’t something that had always existed. It was something that had distinctly _not_ existed when they had first met but had slowly grown like a kudzu vine around his spine until it had reached his heart. And from there it had grown and grown and grown, unchecked, until the very core of Kieren felt rooted in all that Simon was to him. 

Seeing him everyday felt like ripping a new scab off a fresh wound. He suspected that not seeing him would be worse, but when they did see each other, Kieren had to exercise an incredible amount of restraint. He told himself over and over: _don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, don’ttouchdon’ttouchdon’ttouch_. Because to touch was unfair to the both of them. 

After all, he and Rick had never officially broken things off. Death hadn’t been a mutual agreement to move on - it had simply been a hold put on their relationship. A part of Kieren might have died with Rick, but now that he was back, that part had been revived, and Kieren couldn’t fathom how to extract it. 

-

“Oi, Bill.” 

Bill grunted an acknowledgement and knocked back another mouthful of whiskey. 

“Could’ve swore I saw yer boy loitering around that Walker house the other day. You let him off his leash these days?” 

Bill set his pint down heavily enough that some of its contents splashed over the rim and wet his knuckles. He turned to the man who was speaking to him and snarled, “None of yer fuckin’ business, I’d reckon.” 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood so harshly that his stool knocked against the bar’s countertop. Pearl shot him a dirty look but didn’t say anything. 

Bill made sure to sneer nastily at every person who caught his gaze on his way out. A few people flinched and looked away. Good. He hoped they were scared. Fucking served them all right. He couldn’t leave his house these days without nosy townspeople prying into his business. They all seemed to have something to say about his family or about Rick, but none of them understood what he understood: Rick wasn’t _one of them_. He was a war hero. He had a medal and war stories to prove it. 

But this hanging around the Walker boy - that wouldn’t do. He would have to sort that out. 

When he stumbled home, the light in the master bedroom had already been turned off. Janet was probably sleeping soundly under the influence of those special pills the bastard doctor had given her a few weeks ago for her _anxiety_. In Bill’s opinion, she was just weak. It was just as well. He hadn’t married her for her strength. He just hoped he hadn’t bred a weak son as well. 

Rick was sitting on the sofa watching the telly when Bill bustled into the house. He switched the channel fast, but not fast enough for Bill to miss the fact that he was watching some pussy show that Bill had warned him more than once would make him soft. He stood watching Rick intently for several long seconds.

“Dad?” 

“When’s the last time ye saw that Walker lad?” 

“What?” The surprise on Rick’s face quickly melted into cool indifference. “Haven’t seen him in weeks. I’ve only talked to him once since I got back.” 

“Aye,” Bill said. He threw himself into his chair heavily. Rick shifted on the sofa like he wanted to bolt but made no attempt to get up. “That’s not what I heard at the pub tonight. Terry said he saw ye hanging around his house the other day.” 

“I-- I didn’t-- I was just dropping something off.”

“So ye lied to me just now?”

“No, I-- I talked to Jem only. I just dropped off a few things Re-- Kieren left in my room. Didn’t want the clutter.” 

“‘Clutter.’ Christ, ye sound like yer mother now.” Bill put his feet up on the table and let out a loud belch. Rick was still looking at him expectantly, something skittish in his eyes. “Don’t let it happen again,” he grunted. 

Rick nodded quickly and made a swift exit, chastened. Good. 

-

When Rick got up to his room, the first thing he did was delete Kieren’s number off of his prepaid mobile. If his father saw it... Rick didn’t want to think of the possibilities. He’d had the number memorised for years now, anyway. Afterwards, he deleted his call history and his messages just to be safe, even though Bill barely knew how to work a microwave let alone a phone. Still, it was better to be safe. Lately Bill seemed to be buzzing with a volatile electricity; he was liable to erupt at any moment. 

-

_Two Years Ago_

“I’d like to speak with Victor, please,” Silas said in his best civil tone. 

“I’m sorry, Sir. Mr Halperin is unavailable at present. If you’d like to leave a name and number, I can take a message. Or, if you prefer, I can--” 

“That wasn’t a request,” Silas snapped, barely keeping his rage contained between clenched teeth. “I need to speak with Victor now, dammit! It’s urgent.” 

“Sir, you don’t understand--”

“What is it that I don’t understand?” Silas shouted. “What don’t _you_ not understand about the word ‘urgent’? I’ll have to mention to Victor what an incompetent secretary he has.” 

“I’ll transfer you to his direct line so you can leave a message on his personal machine, if you prefer.” 

“If I prefer!” Silas echoed incredulously. The line went dead for a minute before the subtle, infuriating click of being transferred. The line rang three short times before it went to voicemail and the recorded message began to play. Silas tuned it all out until the last few words: _leave a message at the tone._

He cleared his throat and felt his anger coil inside of him like a whip. “You listen to me, Halperin. Whatever you’ve started has to end now. I did not sign up for this. Have you seen what this thing can do? Have you seen what _you’ve_ done?” Silas took a breath to steady himself. “Look outside, Victor. The world has gone mad. People are dying - valuable people. Business associates. I couldn’t even close the deal with Wilkinson the other day because his brain was scooped out! And my son-- my son’s gone missing. Julian.” 

A vein between Silas’ heavy brow pulsed violently. He paused to swallow the tremor in his voice. “So help me, Victor, if this isn’t fixed by the end of the week, I’ll--” 

Another beep sounded and the line once again went dead. He’d been cut off. Unbelievable. 

-

Julian left Gary’s body downstairs to rot. It was a good thing the undead couldn’t really smell, because Gary’s decomposing corpse certainly looked like it would smell bad. The others tip-toed around it like he was a spilled sack of flour and they were trying to keep their shoes clean. Whenever Julian had to leave, he made it a point to step on Gary’s body. 

A few members of the ULA had voiced concerns - what if one of the living entered and saw Gary lying there? Wouldn’t they become suspicious? But Julian shut down every concern with an assurance that none of the living would care if they saw an undead corpse. If anything, they’d be relieved. Another dead’un that they wouldn’t have to worry about. The others stopped asking about it after that. Julian figured he’d leave Gary’s corpse out for another week or so just to make it a point before dragging it outside and dumping it somewhere in the abandoned fields. No one would find it there for weeks. 

Or at least that had been Julian’s plan until he came back the old warehouse late one night and found Frankie trying to exit through the back door with Gary’s body slung over his shoulder. 

“Spring cleaning?” Julian said just loud enough for his voice to echo throughout the empty chambers of the first floor. 

Frankie stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to face Julian. He didn’t look surprised to see him there. Just resigned and slightly exasperated. “It’s been three days, Julian. That’s long enough. Just let me bury him out back.” 

“That’s not for you decide, is it?” Julian exhaled wearily through his nostrils. “The Undead Prophet has said--” 

“I don’t care what the Undead Prophet said!” Frankie erupted. “I know that’s an utter crock of shite. I’ve heard you talking on the phone lately. You’re playing us all.” 

Julian’s face transformed into something stony and blank. He worked his jaw for a moment before saying calmly, “Gary is an example. If you take him, I’ll need a new one.” He stepped closer to Julian, stopping only a hairsbreadth away. They were about eye-to-eye. “And I already have a candidate in mind.” 

Frankie swallowed. “I’m leaving tonight,” he said. He dropped Gary’s body in one swift movement and backed away from it. “You can have him.”

Julian could tell from the look in his eyes that he was holding his breath. He grinned. “I’m told the Undead Prophet is feeling merciful tonight. You’re free to go.” 

Frankie squinted at him for a moment. He took a step back to gauge Julian’s reaction. Julian remained stock still. Frankie looked at him for another second before he turned and ran. He felt Julian’s pleasant smile burning scorch marks into his back the whole way to the door. 

When he was gone, Julian dragged Gary’s rotting corpse back into the middle of the room and started upstairs. There was work to be done. 

-

Simon was woken up at three in the morning to the sound of his mobile vibrating on the night table. He rolled over blearily and wasted no time in picking it up, not bothering to check the caller ID. The only person who ever called him this late was Kieren. 

“Bad dream?” he mumbled into the receiver. 

“You could say that.” 

That was not Kieren’s voice. Simon bolted upright in bed suddenly, all traces of sleep chased from his mind. “Who--” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten the sound of my voice.” 

Coldness seeped into Simon’s gut. He held his breath, then exhaled slowly and carefully. “Frankie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month since my last update. My midterms are still in progress, but I will try to get the next chapter out sooner. This one was short because I tried to fit way too much into it and then had to cut a bunch of stuff out because the pacing was fucked up. The title of this one is "overture" because it's the introduction to the last arc of this story. In the next few chapters we're gonna figure out why and how shit happened. 
> 
> P.S. I promise Simon/Frankie will not be a thing. They are ancient history. ;)


	25. Something Miraculous

From the journal of Victor Halperin, dated 16 Oct. 2008:

 

> _Today marks the first set of experiments involving the manipulation of cytoplasmic RNA-binding proteins. Dr Holt and I tested the effect on complex neurological functioning in various Rattus Norvegicus test subjects when introduced to rchx-15, codename Genesis. Genesis seemed to have no observable effect on the rats upon immediate exposure, but further observation and testing is required before conclusive data can be gathered._

-

The morning was a gray one. Simon met Frankie in the part of the cemetery that was roped off with caution tape. Frankie had refused to tell Simon why he needed to see him, only that it was urgent and that he had no one else to go to. Simon had only agreed to come on one condition: Frankie had to tell him everything that had had happened the night that Simon got high with him back at home.

They sat on tombstones in anxious silence until Frankie sighed explosively and combed his grimy fingers through the lank yellow curls the peeked out from under his knit cap. “Was that boy you were with the night Gary was killed... was he your--”

“That’s none of your business,” Simon answered shortly. “Why did you really ask me here? You sounded worried over the phone.”

“The people I was staying with... I can’t go back to them. Julian kicked me out.”

“He’s the ringleader of your group, is he?”

“It’s more than that.” Frankie swallowed and tugged unconsciously at the ratty scarf that just barely hid the ligature marks on his neck. “Julian is powerful. He’s not like the others. I know too much about him, and he wants me dead for it.”

A shadow passed over Simon’s face. Though he was inclined to think Frankie was lying to him, Julian had been the one to stand idly by as Gary tried to kill Kieren. And then he had killed Gary without a hint of hesitation. It wasn’t a stretch that he wanted someone else dead too.

“What do you know?” Simon asked.

“I know that he’s the Undead Prophet,” Frankie said, voice shaking slightly.

“The Undead Prophet?” Simon had caught whispers around town, and thought maybe Amy had mentioned something about this prophet before, but he hadn’t gathered anything concrete as of yet.

Frankie sighed and began to explain: “The group I was with called themselves the Undead Liberation Army. The Undead Prophet is like... like God to them. He calls the shots. Tells us what to do. Tells us that we’re special. They all believe it. I believed it too until I heard Julian talking with someone called Victor on the phone the other day. He said something about filming another video.” Frankie fiddled with the frayed edges of his scarf and cleared his throat. “It all clicked then. Why Julian was so eager to get us to follow the Prophet. Why he brings Him up all the time. He spoke about some kind of test subjects on the phone. He’s planning something - him and this Victor bloke.”

Simon raised an eyebrow. “Why come to me about this? I have nothing to do with any of it.”

“But you do,” Frankie said shakily. A muscle ticked in Simon’s jaw and Frankie immediately help up a placating hand. “Just let me explain, yeah?”

Simon folded his hands and tried to flatten out his expression. “I’m listening.”

“The night I saw you in the playground and asked you to come with me was the morning after I had met Julian for the first time. He gave me this” - Frankie pulled a small vial full of blue powder out of his pocket and held it up to the light - “and told me it would turn me into my truer self. I tried it that night. Lost myself for hours. When I finally came to, I had blood under my fingernails and all over my mouth. When I called Julian to ask him about it, he told me it was all part of my Becoming and said it was my duty as one of the Prophet’s disciples to share it with others.

When I found you in the playground that next morning, I... I was so, so mad at you. I felt like you owed me something for leaving, and I resented the fact that you were clean and had your life all together when I had already lost mine thanks to my own fuckin-- anyway. I took you to our old place under the bridge - remember we used to get high there with the boys? Tried to get you to relapse on heroin at first but you point blank refused. After a while I settled on just getting you drunk enough that you’d regret it in the morning... but then I remembered the bottle.”

“You gave me that?” Simon asked, nodding to the tiny blue vial.

“Yes.” Frankie wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“What is it?”

“S’called Blue Oblivion. I don’t know what’s in it. I just know it makes my kind turn rabid and remember all the bad shite they did before being taken to the treatment center. Sometimes we remember other things too, like dying. I was curious to see what kind of effect it would have on a living person.”

“What did it do to me?” Simon asked quietly.

“Was kinda like speed. You started talking a lot. Couldn’t stop moving. You were more aggressive, too. At some point you started shaking. I thought it was nothing at first, but then you had some sort of-- of seizure. I didn’t know what to do. I thought it’d kill you. And a part of me... a part of me wanted it to. Julian told me that the undead would rise again when the time was right, and I thought you’d take me back if we were both--”

“ _Stop_.” Simon stood abruptly and paced a few meters away.

“I’m sorry.”

Simon rounded on him suddenly, looking angrier than Frankie had ever seen him. Simon didn’t get mad like other people did. When he was angry, he internalized it. He used it to fuel his passion for something. But now he just looked livid, like he wanted to strangle someone or destroy something. Frankie could sympathise - it was how he felt most of the time. “We’re never going to be together again, Frankie. Do you know why?”

Frankie just stared at him, unblinking, unmoving. He braced himself to take whatever was coming. Simon had a vicious look in his eyes.

“It’s because you’re _weak_. You’re spineless and you’re cruel. You hurt people without caring about the aftermath. I don’t love you. I don’t think I ever have. I just used you like you used me.”

The words seared like a hot coal pressed against his insides. Frankie closed his eyes and thanked God that he didn’t need to breathe, because there was no room in his chest for his lungs to expand. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, but the words rang hollow between them. Simon’s face was as cold and hardened as the granite tombstones all around them. Frankie got up and brushed imaginary dust off of his pant legs. “I didn’t come here to fight you. I thought if I told you about Julian you might have a solution. Like I said, he’s planning something.”

The anger on Simon’s face gave way to incredulity. “How could I help? I barely live in this town. I don’t even know Julian.”

“You were in that-- that group, right? The patrol group?”

“The HVF,” Simon said. His eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”

“You told me after you got drunk and I asked what you’d been doing the past few months.”

“Well, I’m not a part of it anymore. I left months ago. I can’t go back now.”

Frankie whet his lips nervously. He had to make sure Simon knew how serious he was about this; he had a bad feeling, and he’d grown accustomed to trusting his intuition. “Can you at least warn them? I know what you must think of me; I know you hate me. But trust me on this, please. The ULA will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

“And what exactly is it they want?”

“A second rising.”

-

From the journal of Victor Halperin, dated 3 Nov. 2008:

> _Over the past week alone there has been a severe decrease in cytoplasmic RNA-binding proteins in all test subjects exposed to Genesis. Test subjects 12, 68, and 84 in particular seem to be suffering from severe bouts of insomnia. Test subject 68 refuses all food and water and test subject 12 experiences intermittent seizures of varying intensity. Neurological functioning degrades each night in exposed subjects by up to 10%, which control subjects remain at a stable mean. Further observation and testing required, though we seem to be making progress._

-

“A second rising? Is it going to be like last time?”

“I don’t know,” Simon said. It was midday and he was sitting on the sofa beside Kieren. The rest of the house was empty and dead silent, like it was holding its breath.

“What else did Frankie say?” Kieren asked warily, almost reluctant to ask. He was tired. His ribs had finally healed enough for him to roam around the house on his own, but there was still a bone-deep exhaustion in him that sat at the base of his spine and refused to be uprooted. He was very tired.

“He just told me to warn the HVF,” Simon replied. “He’s from out of town; he doesn’t know what it’s like here.”

“He doesn’t know Bill, you mean.” Simon nodded and let his head loll back on the sofa cushion. Kieren was silent for a moment before he asked quietly, “Do you think another rising is possible?”

“A lot of things are possible if you have enough faith,” Simon said, shrugging, “And if what little I know about Julian and the ULA is any indication, faith is the one thing they have in spades.”

“But we don’t even know what caused the first one,” Kieren pointed out.

“Julian might. He is, supposedly, the Undead Prophet. He and Victor could know more than we do, even.”

 “Christ.” Kieren exhaled wearily and tucked his feet under his thighs, making himself smaller. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“Just us and Frankie.”

“Don’t you think Amy and Rick have a right to know that there are plans for a second rising?”

“Because they’re undead?” Simon asked sceptically.

“Because they’re my friends.” Kieren looked at Simon pointedly and added, “And Amy’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s settled.” Kieren stood. “We’ll tell them tomorrow.”

-

Amy had in fact heard of the Undead Prophet before. Incidentally, she was a bit of a fan. When Kieren and Simon explained to her about Julian and Victor and the fact that they might be planning something big - something _bad_ , most likely - Amy didn’t look nearly as surprised as she should have.

“There was something on the website about a second rising...” she hedged, shrugging. “At first I thought it was metaphorical, but the Undead Prophet kept insisting we rise up and fight together. Strength in solidarity, that kind of thing.”

“How is the Prophet getting you all together?” Simon asked.

“There’s a commune that He told us to go to. It’s a safe space,” Amy answered. Her voice was perfectly steady, but there was something in her eyes that was shifty, avoidant. “I’m not even supposed to be telling you two this.”

“Why?” Kieren asked, though the look on his face said he knew the answer very well already.

“You’re not like me,” Amy replied easily, gesturing to her bone-white skin and her tattered dress. “You’re not like _us_.”

“Amy, we’re on your side,” Simon said.

“I know.” Amy tucked a limp lock of hair behind her ear and smiled. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Just promise us you won’t get involved with the Prophet or the ULA. It’s dangerous,” Kieren said.

Amy stepped forward and wrapped one arm around Kieren’s neck, the other around his middle. “I won’t, handsome. Not yet, anyway.”

Kieren looked at Simon over Amy’s shoulder and they held eye contact for a few seconds before Kieren nodded at him as if to say, _good enough_. He brought his hands around her back and hugged her fiercely in return.

-

From the journal of Victor Halperin, dated 18 Dec. 2008:

 

> _All test subjects exposed to Genesis have experienced extreme symptoms of dehydration, insomnia, and frequent seizures. While there was an initial decrease in cytoplasmic RNA-binding proteins in all test subjects upon exposure, only test subject 68 seems to still be experiencing a debilitating decrease of complex neurological functioning. Prefrontal cortex functioning in all other exposed subjects has stabilized. Progress is stagnant. Test subjects are no longer experimentally viable and will be disposed of accordingly within a week, whereupon the second trials will begin._

-

“I dunno what you’re talking about, mate.”

Kieren sighed and collapsed back onto his bed. He had spent a good fifteen minutes explaining the Undead Prophet situation to Rick, but in the end he had only shrugged and fixed Kieren with a blank stare.

“Undead Prophet? ULA? Second Rising? None of that rings a bell?” Kieren asked again just to be sure.

“Ren, I don’t even have a working computer in my house. You know that. How would I have watched these videos you’re going on about?”

“You’re right. Sorry. I’m just being overly cautious.”

“What’s the big deal, anyway? Surely we would have heard about this ‘Prophet’ if something big was going to happen,” Rick said reasonably.

Kieren shrugged and burrowed further into his duvet. Rick was standing in the center of the room as though he was afraid of getting too close. Keeping his distance seemed to be a theme these past few days. It had been hell to get him to come over in the first place. Kieren had called Rick, who’d only agreed to come over after Kieren had told him it was something serious. Then he’d waited a few hours before Bill passed out drunk on the sofa and Rick was able to climb out of his bedroom window. It was one in the morning now - early by Kieren’s standards, late by Rick’s, who was, insufferably, an early riser.

“Simon seemed to think this was important,” Kieren mumbled, half-hoping that Rick wouldn’t hear him.

“You believe everything he says?”

No such luck. Kieren propped himself up on one elbow, a swift surge of righteousness stiffening his spine. “Simon doesn’t lie to me.”

“Never?”

“Not as far as I know. He... he’s a good person.” Kieren bit his tongue and hoped desperately that Rick wouldn’t read between the lines, because what he had meant, quite plainly, was: _he’s good to me._

“You know that for absolute certainty?”

“Christ, Rick! What’s with the first degree?” Kieren exploded. He felt itchy, suddenly. Too small for his skin. This-- this confrontation was something he’d been subconsciously avoiding for weeks.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Rick pointed out.

“Yes,” Kieren said firmly. “Yes, I do know. I trust him. I...” The sentence was swallowed up in Kieren’s shame and uncertainty. He closed his mouth and dropped his gaze to the frayed cross-stitching in his worn jumper.

“Okay,” Rick conceded uncomfortably. All traces of his previous hostility had been chased away by his own brand of shame. He wore it differently than Kieren did. His shame weighed on his shoulders and deepened the lines around his eyes, made him look abruptly older all at once. “I get it.”

“Rick,” Kieren started, ashamed for having yelled at him in seconds prior. He wasn’t sure where to go from there. He tried wading through the thick soupy mess of his thoughts, but it was like grasping at split hairs. Nothing concrete came to the surface.

Rick turned away from him, the broadness of his shoulders like a wall between them. Like this, he looked completely normal. There was nothing about his posture that spoke to him being undead.

After a long, long minute of silence, Rick asked quietly, so quietly Kieren could barely hear him, “Do you know why my dad really sent me to basic training?”

Kieren’s brow furrowed. Of course he knew. It had been after that night Bill caught Kieren and Rick together in his room. One of the worst nights of his life until...

Rick continued wearily, “You know my dad. After he caught us together, he... well, after he’d taken most his anger out on me and my mum, he was in denial for days. Acted like nothing had happened. He even tried to set me up with Jim Ramsey's daughter, Rachel. I figured, hell, what’s the big deal? Not like it’ll kill me or anythin’ to play along. But then--”

Rick turned around abruptly. There was just enough light in the room for Kieren to tell that his grin was splintered, sour.

“Rick--”

“--three days after he caught us together I told him I wanted to get out for a while to clear my head. I was going to come see you. He said, ‘okay, son, but if I ever catch you with that queer boy again I’ll kill him myself.’” Rick winced as the words came out, rubbing a heavy palm over the back of his neck. He cleared his throat and continued, “I realised then I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t live like that, being kept away from you, forced into being something I wasn’t. So I... I said, ‘I’m like him, Dad. If you’re going to kill him, you’ll have to kill me, too.’ Should’ve seen the look on his face - thought he actually _was_ going to kill me right there. Instead he locked me into my room for the night. I was too scared to leave. He sent me to basic the very next day.”

Kieren’s eyes were wet. He wiped at them furiously. All this time he’d harbored just the faintest bit of resentment over Rick’s sudden departure. It was clear now. It wasn’t his fault or Rick’s fault at all. Everything that had happened was an unfortunate consequence of Bill Macy’s narrow mind.

“But you know what, Ren?” Rick said, eyes brighter suddenly. “It was worth it. What kind of life was I living before this, anyway?”

“You were happy,” Kieren interjected quietly. “We were happy.”

“Yeah, happy when I was with you. Living in that house, him breathing down my neck all the time... I felt more freedom in the _military_ than I did in my own home.”

“How about now?”

“He’s in denial again - doesn’t look me in the eye, ignores the scars.” Rick fingered the stitches on his cheek and shrugged. “At least he seems to have forgotten the whole thing between us. He hasn’t mentioned you in a while, either. That’s why when I saw the scars on you I thought maybe he’d hurt you and was keepin’ quiet about it.”

Kieren could not fathom what to say next. He got as far as, “Rick,” again before his voice gave out on him. How did you tell the boy you loved that you would do anything to make things better for him when you knew you couldn’t?

“Leave him, please. Move out. Rent a flat somewhere. Christ, move in here. _Anything_.”

Rick’s reply was a bitter laugh. “I can’t go anywhere, Ren. You know that. I’m trapped. ‘Sides, I can’t just leave my mum all alone with him.”

“But--”

“I’ve made peace with my lot in life,” Rick interrupted, smiling tiredly, resigned.

“That’s not fair,” Kieren said helplessly. It wasn’t. A lot of things weren’t fair in this town - this world, really. He’d always known that, of course, but it was so much worse being confronted with it when it was your best friend who was suffering.

Rick shrugged again. When he swallowed, his throat bobbed. “Sorry I got riled about Simon. I, er, I’m glad you’re happy with him.” A pause. “He does make you happy, yeah?”

 _Incredibly_ , Kieren thought, and felt a surge of shame and guilt all twisted up with each other because of it. He choked out a single, mangled syllable, feeling it scour his throat on its way out: “Yes.”

-

They talked until the sun rose. It was the most Kieren had ever heard Rick say at once. It was also the most honest they had ever been with each other. But nothing like that could last for long. Rick got antsy around six AM and said his dad could wake up any minute, and soon he was slipping out the front door. They hugged each other goodbye before they parted, something they had rarely if ever done before. When Rick was alive, it had been all back slaps and casual touches that they both pretended meant nothing. Now, there wasn’t as much pretense between them. Their touches lingered. Neither of them tried to pretend.

But Rick had made it clear that he didn’t - _couldn’t_ \- want more. And he hadn’t explicitly said it, but Kieren was sure like he had never been before: Rick loved him. Rick loved him a lot, but there was no part of him that was capable of committing fully to him. There was no part of Rick that was in a position to give himself to someone else, and Kieren knew that too, though it stung. He tried very, very hard to accept it, but by the time Simon arrived in the early afternoon as he usually did, Kieren was still reeling.

“Did you warn Rick about the ULA?” Simon asked first thing after Kieren let him in to the house.

Kieren nodded mutely. Simon’s neutral expression softened, somehow, like he was aware he’d struck a nerve. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Kieren said. He didn’t want to talk about Rick with Simon, not now, when the memory of their entire night spent together still ached like a sore tooth. But if there was anything he’d learned from their conversation, it was that keeping secrets didn’t often do you very much good in the long run. “I do want to tell you something, though.”

“All right,” Simon said agreeably, like he was in the midst of performing a mild business transaction. Kieren rolled his eyes and tugged him closer by the sleeves of his jumper. Simon came easily, if a bit taken aback by the gesture. “Kieren?” he said dubiously, eyebrows drawing together in the middle.

Kieren drew a deep breath and brought a hand up to cup Simon’s sharp jaw. He smiled, just slightly, and Simon mirrored the expression immediately, as though he was helpless to do otherwise.

“I love you,” Kieren said.

Simon swallowed and Kieren only knew because he felt the movement against his palm. His eyes had closed without his permission. There was a stilted second of silence before Simon asked, “Yeah?”

It sounded like he had been gargling gravel. Kieren snorted and opened his eyes. Simon looked spooked, almost. Kieren kissed the tip of his nose to distract him. It worked for a brief moment before Simon’s smile sobered.

“I love you, too,” Simon said solemnly. Then, like it was being pulled from him, he added, “But I don’t want to get between--”

Kieren pulled away to look at him properly. “Rick and I aren’t together. We won’t be.”

“But you love him,” Simon said, like it was a very simple fact worth noting. The words didn’t sound like they tasted sour on his tongue. He looked at peace with it.

“Love isn’t always enough.” Kieren knew it sounded trite, cliche, but it rang true for him. “He’s my best mate, but anything more than that isn’t healthy for either of us right now. Rick’s not... he isn’t in a good place. I want to be there for him, but not like that. I’ve always been his friend before anything else.”

“Okay.” Simon fell quiet, thoughtful. He looked like he needed a few minutes to digest everything.

“Simon,” Kieren began, “just because I love him doesn’t mean I love you any less. My capacity to love isn’t a finite thing. You know that, right?”

“I do,” said Simon. “It’s not that. I’m just surprised that you want me at all.”

“Of course I do,” Kieren said, bewildered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Simon’s mouth twisted down at the corners. He shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Kieren frowned and pressed a hesitant kiss to the corner of Simon’s lips, unsure if he was overstepping his bounds. But Simon yielded immediately, sighing, nudging Kieren into a proper kiss. Kieren’s hands found a place around Simon’s neck, and both of them instinctively moved closer until they were pressed together from head to toe. They stayed like that until all traces of doubt had dissipated from Simon’s face.

-

From the journal of Victor Halperin, dated 20 Jan. 2009:

 

> _Something miraculous happened within days of test subject termination. I will not record it in detail here, for I fear leaving a written account of my findings is too high-risk. The only thing I will say on the matter is that test subjects 12,68, and 84 retained viability after death. My partner, Dr Holt, knows nothing of this miracle. I will need to find a new partner whom I can trust. Years of futile experimenting have finally come to fruition. This will set many things in motion._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> getting back into the swing of things. midterms are over now, but finals are looming just on the horizon.
> 
> cheers, guys.


	26. New World Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for brief use of homophobic slur

_Simon’s face was draped half in shadow. The room was dark around them, but there was a soft beam of light coming from a small window to his left that made the other half of his face glow effusively. No matter how close Kieren stepped, the shadow remained fixed in place, turning Simon’s right eye socket into a gaping black pit and his cheekbone into a gaunt plane._

_“Simon?” Kieren said aloud. His voice came out scratchy with disuse. He tried again, but this time the words didn’t make it past his lips._

_Simon’s head remained perfectly still. The rest of his body was cloaked in the darkness, his broad shoulders and breadth of his torso just a faint outline. Kieren took another step. The rest of the room was so dark he couldn’t see his own feet, but it didn’t matter. He felt weightless. He moved as though floating through water._

_When Kieren got close enough to count Simon’s eyelashes, he stopped and said his name again, but it elicited no reaction. Something compelled Kieren to lean forward._

_“Simon,” he began. “What are we doing here?”_

_Nothing._

_“We have to go.”_

_Nothing._

_“I’m not going to leave you here.”_

_Nothing._

_“Please,” Kieren said. His throat felt raw from pleading. Simon remained still as a statue, unblinking before him. Kieren put a hand to his cheek and found that Simon’s skin was very, very cold. Something nebulous unfurled in his gut. He traced his hand down to Simon’s neck and searched for a pulse. It took him very little time to determine that there wasn’t one._

_He went to pull his hand away at once, but before he could get very far, Simon’s own hand came up suddenly and clamped around his wrist, holding it in place. Some primal instinct told Kieren to fight to get loose, but it was no use. Simon’s hand was made of steel. His grip was unyielding._

_“You’re hurting me,” Kieren said._

_Simon’s eyes shifted slowly to look at him. Now that the light was hitting them from the right angle, Kieren could see the wrongness of them. Where the vivid cerulean of Simon’s irises usually was, there was pale, yellowish blue mottled mess instead and pupils like pinpricks._

_“We’re not going anywhere.” It was Simon’s mouth that had moved to form the words, but they sounded distorted, his tone pitched lower than usual._

_“What’s wrong with your eyes?” was all Kieren could think to ask. His hand was going numb in Simon’s grip, but he pushed the feeling away in favor of cataloging Simon’s response._

_Bizarrely, his question made a smile curl on Simon’s pale lips. “This is how it was supposed to be.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_Simon stood so that they were eye level and guided Kieren’s captured hand to the side of his face that had been enshrouded in darkness. Simon’s cheek felt waxy and oddly firm beneath Kieren’s fingertips, almost turgid._

_“Do you see?” Simon asked._

_Kieren shook his head. Simon turned his neck so that the light from the window illuminated his entire face at once. His skin was bone white with a distinct purplish tint to it._

_“Do you see?” Simon repeated._

_He released his grip on Kieren’s wrist all at once, but Kieren kept his hand fixed against Simon’s cool cheek. He trailed his fingers along the bridge of Simon’s nose, the line of his brow, the blackened bow of his mouth. Slowly, so slowly that at first Kieren couldn’t tell the difference, Simon’s ashen skin began to turn soft - too soft, like an over boiled potato. Then, little by little, it began to sag off in pieces, melting like Simon was made of plastic. The stench of rot filled the room._

_Kieren snatched his hand away, but not before it could get covered in the black, gelatinous substance that was oozing from the opening sores on Simon’s face. He was decaying, shriveling up like a grape left too long in the sun._

_Before his lips could curl up and sink entirely into his skull, Simon spoke again: “This. This is what you are, Kieren.” Kieren looked down at his own hands and found that they were the same bone-white that Simon’s skin had been moments earlier. “Do you see?”_

-

Kieren woke up with tendrils of gray smoke clinging to his consciousness. It took him several moments to register the pressure of a hand on his head, holding him still, stroking through his hair. It took him another second to realise that his face was wet - drenched, in fact.

“Kieren?”

Kieren scrambled to sit up at once, detaching the hand from his hair. Jem was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes wide and red-rimmed like she’d been crying too.

“Kieren,” she repeated, sounding almost relieved. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought you were...” She trailed off helplessly, looking miserable. “I thought you were having a seizure, but then you started crying, and I just--”

“Where’s Simon?” Kieren croaked.

Jem’s brow furrowed with what might have be annoyance if she wasn’t so frightened. “He went home hours ago.”

“I need to go seem him.” Kieren threw the covers off of his legs and hopped down from the bed, but Jem grabbed him by the shoulders before he could bolt out the door.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked him, voice strained with fear and frustration. “I wake up to hear you sobbing next door, come to find you like _this_ , try to calm you down, and now you’re going to run off to see Simon? It’s four in the morning, Kier!”

“You don’t understand, Jem,” Kieren said desperately. “I _have_ see him. I have to.” More tears were welling in his eyes, and he wiped them away furiously.

“Just stop it!” Jem yelled. Kieren was shocked into stillness. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of the secrecy. First you won’t tell me what really happened the night you got beat up, then you won’t tell me what’s going on with your nightmares, and now this. Do you not trust me?”

Kieren’s jaw fell slack helplessly. “Of course I trust you, Jem.”

Jem threw up her hands. “Then why won’t you tell me?”

“There’s nothing to say,” Kieren said reluctantly.

Jem’s eyes slitted dangerously. “Right,” she spat. “You expect me to believe that Gary Kendal attacked you because you went to talk to him about renting a flat? Maybe Mum and Dad’ll buy it, but I know you better. I know you never would have gone to talk to him alone in the first place. And I know you never would have let it escalate like that.”

Kieren’s mouth twisted guiltily. He looked away. Jem sighed. “Just cut the bullshit, Kier. Tell me what really happened.”

“Okay,” Kieren said. All of the air rushed out of his lungs at once. It was killing him to lie to his sister. Though he knew it was probably a bad idea, he couldn’t keep it in anymore. If she hated him afterwards, so be it. “I’ll tell you everything.”

-

_Two Years Ago_

Silas Redford had never been a particularly emotional man, but the news about the death of his son had put him in a very bad mood. There were arrangements to be made. Silas had to rethink his will now that his eldest son wouldn’t be around to inherit the business. Mrs Redford was entirely inconsolable, of course, but Silas didn’t have time to think about that.

His focus was on the folder that had been slapped on his desk the morning prior. A folder that contained a report that contained several glossy, hi-def pictures of puddles of congealed blood. Blood that he was told belonged to his son. Too much blood for one person to have lost and still be alive.

Julian Redford died in an alleyway, cause of death speculated to be multiple stab wounds to the chest. And then his body had disappeared without a trace, back into the ether from whence he had been hiding for months now.

Julian Redford had died a death unbefitting of his class and lineage. Silas Redford was not pleased.

-

Lisa Lancaster got a call at five thirty in the morning about a rotter sighting in the woods. It was Dean Halton who’d made the call - he was tucked in bed with a bad cough and couldn’t make it out on patrol that night, but Bill was insisting that someone took care of it before daybreak.

Begrudgingly, Lisa rolled out of bed, laced up her black combat boots, and slipped on her well-worn HVF armband. These days, rotter sightings were almost always false alarms; drunken teenagers called in after getting spooked by their own shadow while they were wandering late at night. To be fair, Lisa probably _would’ve_ been one of those teenagers herself if she hadn’t shacked up with Bill’s group a long time ago. Her parents were none too pleased about it - except her mum did get a bit of sparkle in her eyes when Lisa talked about the people she had saved - but such was life. She’d chosen the path she was on and she wasn’t ashamed of it.

It was unseasonably cold out that night, so Lisa donned her army jacket and a scarf on her way out. No need to wake her parents; they were used to her being gone when they woke up. The walk to the woods was short and lonely.

Dean had mumbled something about the rotter being spotted by a civilian along the northern edge of the woods, towards the cemetery. When she got there, the land was quiet and empty as far as she could see. She circled the perimeter once, and when still nothing came up, she considered leaving. If she got home within the hour, there was a good chance she’d be able to catch at least another three hours of sleep before college. She wouldn’t even be going if her parents hadn’t looked so distraught about the idea of her staying in the HVF. Not dropping out had been a compromise.

Just before Lisa turned on her heel to leave, a shadow fell over one of the tombstones on the eastern side of the cemetery. She paused. The shadow shifted as the figure it belonged to swayed on its feet. She ducked behind a nearby tree, drawing her pistol from her waistband, and held it pointing downwards at thigh-level.

Slowly, the figure advanced in her direction until its shadow was enormous and looming, eclipsing the entirety of a nearby tombstone. Lisa held her breath and lifted the colt to eye level. Another step forward, and the figure was suddenly awash in the murky purple light of almost-dawn.

It was a skinny man, probably in his late twenties, with dirty blond hair and a sharp nose. His most startling feature was the vicious-looking ligature marks that spanned the circumference of his neck. He opened his mouth in a gesture that almost resembled a yawn and made a noise that sounded like someone trying to scream through a mouthful of sand. She saw that his teeth were coated in a black, gelatinous fluid that was slowly drooling out of his mouth and slicking his lips. Classic rabid.

She carefully slid her finger from the trigger guard to the trigger itself. Just half a step closer and she would have a clear shot. He shuffled forward, dripping black down the front of his shirt. Perfect. Lisa steadied her arm and aimed. Just as she pulled the trigger, she noticed something she hadn’t seen in a rabid before - something curious. Dusted in faint streaks under his nose was a powdery blue residue.

-

Simon woke up early the next morning with a weight like a stone sitting in his gut. He had gone to bed feeling light - Kieren had told him he loved him, and there was just about nothing that meant more to him than hearing that. But the moment he opened his eyes something felt - off.

He dressed quickly and headed into the kitchen, intending to use Amy’s landline to phone Kieren. Perhaps hearing his voice would soothe his worries. When he stepped into the hallway, he was unsurprised to see Amy already sitting on the sofa in the living room, scrolling through some website on her laptop. When she noticed him, she shut the laptop in a hurry and smiled up at him.

“You’re up early,” she remarked.

“Says the earliest riser I’ve ever known.”

“I like to make use of the entire day,” Amy sniffed. She got up and patted down the ruffles in her dress. “Well, now that you’re roaming about, would you like some tea?”

“If it’s not too much trouble. I was just going to give Kieren a ring.”

Amy smiled coyly and ducked her head in understanding. “Of course. I’ll bring the cup out to you.”

“Thank you,” Simon said absently. He was already dialing Kieren’s number from memory. He picked up halfway through the first ring.

“Simon?”

“Yes. How’d you--”

“No one else is up this early except for Amy, and she’d probably just show up at my front door. I’ve been wanting to call you for hours.”

“You had a nightmare?” Simon guessed.

“Yeah,” Kieren said wearily. “It was bad. Really bad. One of the worst I’ve had. I, um, I woke up crying.”

“Kieren,” Simon said quietly. “You should have called. You know I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Jem was there when I woke up. She calmed me down. But she also-- she wanted to know the truth about what happened with Gary.”

“Did you tell her?” On the other end of the line, Kieren sighed deeply, and that was answer enough. “How did she take it?”

“She was upset that I’d lied to her. She was also mad, but not at me. At Gary. She said she didn’t blame me for what I’d done, that it was an accident, and that I was brave to stick up to him.”

“You were,” said Simon firmly.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t feel like it at the time. Still doesn’t. I’m glad she knows, though. It feels good not to be keeping secrets.”

Simon opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the sound of the door opening and Amy making a very bizarre noise from several yards away.

“What was that?” Kieren asked, just as confused as Simon was.

“Hold on.” Simon put down the phone - it was a corded landline, bless Amy’s late grandmother - and walked quietly to the foyer. Amy was standing by the front door talking to a tall man who looked more like a boy, really, with his rounded face and guileless eyes. Simon thought he’d seen the man in the parish several times before, when he’d been a member of the HVF, but he wasn’t remarkable enough for Simon to have remembered his name.

Amy gestured angrily at him as though she was shooing him away, but the man stood his ground, though he looked blatantly terrified.

“Phil, you need to leave,” Amy said. “I told you already that you can’t come here. It’s too conspicuous.”

“I’ll tell everyone I’m here on council business,” came Phil’s feeble reply.

Simon could hear the eye roll in her voice when she said, “Even Bill Macy’s cronies aren’t dumb enough to buy that.”

“Well, I did come here to tell you something important,” Phil hedged. Amy gestured for him to continue and he swallowed and said, “They found a rabid roaming around in the cemetery this morning. Some girl killed him. Bill Macy is on a rampage again. There hasn’t been a sighting in weeks, an attack in even longer that - if word got out they found one so close to town...”

“They’d pick up their pitchforks again,” Amy finished for him.

Phil nodded and licked his lips. “I just thought I’d warn you. You know, in case you want to leave Roarton for a while, or--”

“I’m not leaving,” Amy cut in sharply. “This is my home. And I can take care of myself, thanks.”

“I know. Just be careful.” Phil shrugged. “Sorry to bother you. I’ll leave now.”

He began to turn when Amy stopped him with a hand on his wrist. Swiftly, Amy leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek, close to his mouth. Phil blushed bright red at once and stumbled back until he was clear of the door’s threshold. Amy waved to him cheerfully and shut the door in his face.

When she spun around and saw Simon standing there, dumbstruck, all traces of mirth disappeared from her eyes. “Oh. You saw that.” It wasn’t a question, but a flat statement of fact. Amy’s expression was neutral, but Simon knew it was a careful mask that she was wearing to protect herself from whatever Simon’s reaction might be.

Simon held up his hands non-threateningly and said, “Amy, I’m the last person to cast stones.”

“Fine,” Amy said. “Don’t tell anyone about the-- the...” She trailed off, looking more uncomfortable than Simon had ever seen her. This was not like the Amy Simon knew - the Amy he knew was unapologetic and bold. She didn’t give a shit what people thought about her. Simon must have shown his confusion on his face, because she continued, “It’s not me. It’s Phil. He doesn’t want anyone to know. Thinks he would lose his position on the council.”

“To be fair, he probably would. Vicar Oddie is not an open-minded man,” Simon said.

“Right. Well, there’s nothing serious between us anyway.” Amy smiled, but her expression faltered after a moment.

Simon nodded politely, pretending not to notice, and gestured towards the living room. “Kieren’s still on the line. I’d better...”

“Okay,” Amy said easily. “I’ll finish up the tea.”

When Kieren asked what all that noise had been, Simon told him that it was Phil come to tell them about a rabid slaying in the cemetery. He did not mention the way Phil looked at Amy, or the gentleness with which she’d kissed him.

“Why would Philip Wilson care to warn you two about that?” Kieren asked, astute as always.

“Maybe he has a little more spine than we thought.”

“I think Amy has more than enough of that for the both of them.” Simon snorted and then there was silence for a few seconds before Kieren eventually said what they were both thinking: “This isn’t good for her or any of the other PDS sufferers in Roarton.”

“I know.” Simon sighed. “But I don’t know what we can do. We can’t keep everyone safe.”

“We can try,” Kieren said stubbornly. “There has to be some way we can help.”

“All we can do is remain vigilant,” Simon said.

There was a long pause. Then, hesitantly, Kieren asked, “Do you think Rick knows about what happened in the cemetery?”

-

_Several Months Ago_

“Why do you have to tear out her spine again?”

“We’re not _tearing_ it out, Julian. That would be barbaric. We’re simply covering all of our bases,” Victor said primly, adjusting his glasses.

“I thought you said you knew what this thing did to people.”

“We know what it does initially, of course. You’ve seen that first hand. But months, years down the line - well, anything could happen, really.”

“Does that mean that this could be temporary?” Julian asked, gesturing to himself.

It was a fair question. Victor had wondered that himself. The rat test subjects only had so long of a lifespan, and their brain structure, of course, did vary from that of a human subject. It was impossible to tell what the long-lasting effects of Genesis would be.

“We simply can’t know at this early of a stage,” Victor said regretfully. “That’s why it’s important that we monitor subject 88 and the others that will come after. I need you to keep a close look-out, okay?”

“Is that all you’ll have me do?” Julian asked. There was a note of disappointment in his voice. Julian was used to being important.

Victor smiled disarmingly. “You’ll be instrumental to the proceedings of this project. You said you wanted a second chance at life. A chance to do something great. That’s what this is.”

“How can you guarantee that?” Julian asked. “So far this is just some souped up experiment.”

Victor frowned crossly and clenched his jaw to keep it from ticking in annoyance. Julian was starting to sound like Silas.

“This isn’t an experiment,” Victor explained slowly, calling upon every scrap of patience he could muster. “This is the beginning of a new world order.”

-

Simon hadn’t foreseen himself in this position, but he wasn’t particularly surprised that it had turned out this way. There wasn’t much that he wouldn’t do for Kieren, even if it meant talking to his undead kind-of-ex-best mate. This wouldn’t have been an issue at all if Rick had picked up the phone when Kieren called. Kieren was getting worried. But there was no way for him to safely stop by the Macy’s house to check on Rick without unleashing an enormous shit storm. It was simply altogether smarter for Simon to go in his place, even though Bill’s truck was currently parked outside of the Legion and would likely remain there for at least a few more hours.

There shouldn’t be anyone home but for Rick and his mother. Janet Macy was a manageable woman, Kieren had said. Kind, even, when she wasn’t going along with her husband’s terrible judgement.

He would have thrown something at Rick’s room, but there were no small rocks around, and besides, Simon wasn’t entirely sure that Rick would even come downstairs at the sight of him.

When he knocked, a small woman with small, sad eyes, and more frown lines than befit her age answered the door. That must be Janet Macy. She stood there, unblinking, for a long moment before Simon spoke.

“Hello,” Simon said, calling upon the old voice he used to use to get what he wanted from people. It felt strange on his tongue, ill-fitted to his current life. “I used to work for your husband.”

“Yes,” Janet said. She managed a watery smile. “I remember you. From the church. You gave that big speech. Was there something you needed?”

“I--” Simon caught himself before he could say ‘sorry.’ He wasn’t actually very sorry at all. Those had been Kieren’s words, really, and he wasn’t going to apologize for them. The people of Roarton had needed to hear what he said that night so many months ago. “Yes. I was wondering if your son was about.”

“Rick?” Janet’s eyebrows had shot up at his mention. “Is he-- is there something--” There was something in her eyes that suddenly spelled panic. Simon lifted his hands to let her know he meant no harm.

“He’s not in any trouble,” Simon assured her. Janet didn’t look convinced. Simon chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously before making a decision. “Kieren sent me. I came to warn your son. I think he may be in danger. There was a rabid killed in the cemetery last night.”

Janet stared at him blankly for so long that Simon started to think he had been wrong. Maybe Janet Macy didn’t love her son as much as he’d thought she had. But then she nodded quickly and opened the door wide for him, whispering, “First door on the right upstairs. Be quick. Bill’s due home in a bit.”

Simon nodded and slid past her up the stairs. The second floor was dim but homey. He couldn’t imagine a man like Bill living in such a place. He knocked lightly on the door and heard a voice from inside the room call, “Just a sec!” There was the sound of something being shuffled around, and then a little while later the door flung open.

Rick stood before him in an almost defensive posture, mouth open as if to make an excuse. When he registered that it was Simon standing there instead of his dad, his jaw fell slack, and the line of his shoulders untensed by a fraction.

“What are you doing here?”

Simon swallowed. “Kieren,” he said eloquently.

Rick’s face changed immediately. “Did something happen to him? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Simon said hurriedly. “I came because we think you may be in trouble.”

“Ren already warned me about that second rising shite.”

“It’s not that.”

“Well, what is it then?” Rick asked, eyebrows drawing together.

“A rabid was killed last night. Your dad--”

“My dad doesn’t even think I’m undead,” Rick cut in. “I don’t see how this changes things.”

“Philip Wilson looked worried. He seemed to think Bill was going to do something.”

“I can handle my dad,” Rick said confidently. His eyes gave him away. He was terrified.

“Rick, I know--”

“You don’t know _shite_ ,” Rick snapped. “So stop pretending you do. You’re just making things worse by being here.”

“Listen, I know Kieren offered for you to stay with him for a while. I think that would be for the best, at least until things blow over. Bill is a loose cannon.”

“Like hell would I want to live with Ren and his _fag_ boyfriend.”

Simon swallowed past the sting in his throat. Rick was a kid, he reminded himself. A very scared kid who was taking all of his anger out on the nearest easy target. “I don’t live with him anymore,” Simon said quietly. “Please. Kieren is just trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection.” Rick’s voice cracked on the last word. He looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Simon tried not to see the gruesome stitches sewn into his cheek. After a short silence, Rick asked, “Do you even give a fuck about him?”

Simon was taken aback. “Kieren?” he asked disbelievingly.

“You’re older than him and you needed a place to live. How do I know you’re not just taking advantage him?”

“Of course I care about him. We’re on the same side, Rick.”

“I don’t believe you.” Rick crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. The way he stood was nothing like how it was when he had answered the door expecting his dad to be on the other side. He looked sturdy, poised for a fight.

Simon had endured being called a slur, but having his feelings towards Kieren called into question was getting under his skin like nothing else. Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “I stopped him from killing himself.”

Rick’s entire body transformed. The scepticism on his face melted in the place of slack-jawed shock. “You... you saved his life?”

Simon shrugged. “That’s how I met him.”

Rick swallowed and combed a hand back through the short bristles of his hair. “How did it happen?”

“Rick, I don’t think...”

“Tell me,” he croaked. His breathing was labored and his eyes were glazed. Simon licked his lips and felt bad for him, suddenly, with an intensity that was almost startling.

“He did it a few days after you--” He gestured to Rick’s general state. “We saved each other more than I saved him. I found him the night I was planning to overdose. He-- he was in a cave, covered in blood.”

Rick turned to rest his forehead on the door frame, breath catching miserably in his chest. “Christ.”

“You have to know that that’s not the only reason I care for him. That was just the beginning.”

“I’m sorry.” Rick rasped. He voice sounded so raw that Simon’s own throat ached in sympathy.

“It’s all right,” Simon said. What else could he really say? He thought of what Kieren might say, but it felt wrong to try and impersonate him in this situation. He had no place doing that. He knew nothing about Rick, really, beyond his connection to Kieren.

“I do want to leave, y’know,” Rick finally murmured. “I want to, but I can’t leave my mum here alone with him.”

“I understand.” Simon did. He wouldn’t have been able to leave his own mum by herself if he hadn’t known that Iain Monroe was a relatively capable husband. “You’ll think about it, though?”

Rick opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by the slam of a door downstairs. Simon watched as he jumped, standing immediately to attention. His eyes flew wide open. He looked at Simon like a deer in headlights and hissed, “Come in, come in. Shite.” He hastily ushered Simon into his bedroom. Once inside, he closed the door firmly and gestured towards the bed. “Climb up on the bed. Can you fit through that window?”

“We’re on the second floor, Rick.”

“Okay, fuck.” Rick scrubbed an anxious hand over his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Fuck._ ”

“What about the closet?” Simon suggested. It was small, but he might be able to fit if he held his breath.

“There’s too much crap in it. You won’t fit.” Rick collapsed onto the bed in defeat and let his head fall into his cupped palms. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

“I’ll tell him it was my fault, that I came here unsolicited and you tried to kick me out right away but I insisted.”

“Won’t mean much. He doesn’t want me havin’ blokes up here. Not after what happened with--” Rick was interrupted by a ham-fisted knock on the door. “Come in,” he managed weakly.

Bill opened the door and stepped in. For a moment, he didn’t seem to see anyone but Rick. “Rick,” Bill began. But Rick’s nervous glance to the right gave him away. Bill’s gaze strayed to where Simon was standing, pressed up against the wall adjacent to Rick’s bed, stiff and suspicious-looking. His expression immediately darkened. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s nothing, dad, I swear--”

“Rick didn’t know I was coming,” Simon cut in. “I was just going to leave.”

“What business do ye have with my son in the first place?” Bill barked.

Simon floundered for a moment and Rick picked up the slack.

“He came because Kieren asked him to, dad. He wanted to check up on me.”

Bill’s face grew subtly red. “You told me you were done with the Walker lad.”

Rick swallowed. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on his dad when he said, “I’m not. I never was.” He drew a shuddering breath and added, “I won’t be.”

Bill’s face went abruptly, terrifyingly blank. Without turning to look at Simon, he said, “Get the fuck out of my house, Monroe.”

Simon looked to Rick, reluctant to leave him alone with his father, whose rage was still simmering under his skin like an over-boiling pot. Rick’s mouth quirked in the barest of smiles as he mouthed ‘go.’

-

Two hours later, Bill Macy nudged a corpse with the toe of his boot, spitting when its head flopped limply onto the cemetery floor. “Good job taking out this sorry rotten sod,” he grunted.

“Wasn’t a big deal. Anyone could’ve handled it.” Lisa shrugged. Her eyes were aching with exhaustion, and she’d already missed first and second hour. She had assignments to turn in, but they’d have to wait. Bill had called her to the parish after she radioed in about the kill, said he had something to work out with her. And you don’t just turn down Bill Macy.

“But yer smarter than the lot of them. More competent than Dean, at any rate.”

“Oh, Daz is just a bit of a--” Bill cut her a disbelieving look and Lisa deflated. “Yeah, I s’pose. What’s that matter, anyway? There are hardly any rotters left, anyway. Tonight was a rarity.”

Bill’s eyes darkened. “It’s up to people like us not to let our guard down. There are still plenty of ‘em out there, love.”

 _Like your son?_ Lisa didn’t say. Instead she nodded obediently and said, “Too right, Sarge.”

“Got to keep an eye out, stay vigilant,” Bill continued feverishly. “People ‘round here are forgetting our sacrifice. Letting themselves go soft. Some in Roarton are even starting to think these things are people now.”

Lisa bobbed her head in agreement. “Yeah, but what can we do about that?”

“Well, we hav’ta get rid of ‘em all. It's the only way.” He paused for a second, then nodded as though confirming his own idea.

“What about the medicated ones?”

“All of ‘em, sweetheart,” Bill repeated calmly. “Every last one.”

-

“I regret to inform you all that one of our own has been slain.”

The room quieted. Alana, his favorite, fiddled nervously with the split ends of her brilliant red hair. Connor, an older man with hair like flaxseed and dark skin, frowned like he already knew what was coming. The others stared up at him, pale-faced and wide-eyed, awaiting his word. Julian felt a little thrill zip up his spine at the sight. They worshipped him - practically. At the very least they worshipped his alter ego.

“Was it Frankie?” Alana asked. Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“It was.” Julian raised a hand to silence the onslaught of murmuring. “We all know how important Frankie was to the ULA. His second death is very unfortunate. Which is why,” Julian drew in a deep breath and bowed his head, “we must make sure his work here does not go to waste.”

“How was he killed?” asked Connor. Confusion bore a crease between his brows.

“The HVF in Roarton found him in the cemetery the other night. He was shot, execution style. This is what they do to our people. This is what the _living_ does.”

“Why would he leave in the first place?” one of the younger girls asked. Her name was Lucy, and she had large eyes and a very small mouth that was always set in a discontent moue. She’d had no home when Julian found her on the streets. No one else would have taken her in, and she knew it. Her loyalty to the ULA was unparalleled.

“He was beset by a trivial matter, Lucy,” Julian sighed. “He was in love with one of the living and thought that his feelings might be requited if he pursued them.”

“Simon,” Alana said, tone sharp. “That rude bloke with the gun from the night Gary died.”

Julian frowned, taken aback, but quickly covered it with a mild smile. “Yes. What made you think so?”

“I saw the way Frankie looked at him,” Alana said nonchalantly. “Practically had stars in his eyes. And he tried to warn him. Never seen Frankie do anything out of the kindness of his heart before that.”

Julian hummed and spread his hands out at his sides. “It just goes to show us that we can’t trust any of the living. Even those who we thought we loved. We’re different now, and they don’t take kindly to that. That’s why we have to stay together. We can’t make the same mistake that Frankie did.”

“Shouldn’t we fight back?” The question had come from one of the quieter men of the group.

“I don’t want them to hurt us anymore,” Lucy said softly. Her eyes looked wet from this distance. Julian imagined that they used to be the color of cornflowers when she’d be alive.

“I don’t want that, either,” Julian told her. He summoned his kindest smile and spoke again to the entire room, “We’re stronger than them, but not yet strong enough. We have to learn to protect ourselves.”

“But there are only so many of us,” a middle-aged woman noted. “And hundreds of them in Roarton alone.”

“Yes. And that’s why we need an army,” Julian said.

“An army?” Alana echoed glacially.

Connor swallowed. The frown remained firmly fixed on his face. “We’re going to recruit more?”

“You could say that.” Julian slipped a black tape out of his trouser pocket and held it up for everyone to see. “The Prophet has a new mission for us all.”

“A mission? Like God and His disciples?” Lucy asked, eyes shimmering.

“Yes,” said Julian, reveling in the feel of the word. Disciples. Now there was an idea. “Exactly like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me a while, but i managed to eke out 6k. the end is getting closer. Thank you immensely to everyone who is still reading. <3


	27. No Use Crying Over Split Tea

Maxine Martin arrived in Roarton Valley six days after the unidentified rotter was killed in the cemetery by Lisa Lancaster. She came with ugly orange vests and a righteous smile, and the moment Bill Macy saw her he knew he would either have to surrender his power to her or eliminate her presence in his town. The latter seemed impossible. She took root in the parish’s office-closet faster than he would’ve liked to give her credit for, and she was a (he grit his teeth at the very notion) _professional_. He couldn’t get rid of her any more than he could’ve summoned government troops to Roarton when they’d been most vulnerable during the Rising.

Maxine had a goal that Bill might have admired had he been able to muster any respect for her: make sure the dead’uns masquerading as people aren’t actually recognized as people. But he didn’t trust her. She worked for the bastard government, after all, and there was no part of him that could pledge allegiance to that.

But there was one thing Maxine didn’t have that Bill had in spades: the trust of the townspeople-- _his_ people.

And he would make sure that it stayed that way.

-

Rick knew something had changed. His father hadn’t looked at him in days. When he was home, Bill skirted him like he wasn’t there. When Bill spoke, he addressed only Janet. There were no more offers to go shooting at the makeshift range in their backyard. There were no more lazy afternoons sprawled out in front of the tiny television, Bill taking long sips of beer and watching as his son feigned doing the same.

Bill felt like a ghost in his own house, more out of place than when he’d first stepped out of the back of that army vehicle and onto the soil of the place that had once been his home.

He thought about leaving every day. He thought about walking out the door without saying a word, taking nothing with him, and just walking. Walking and walking and walking until his feet should have been sore but weren’t because his body wasn’t his body anymore. Walking until the jarring hostility of Roarton faded into the background. Walking until he couldn’t feel his father’s black disapproval like a noose around his neck.

-

Roarton was not a place where you talked about loving someone who you weren’t supposed to love. It was a place where you loved in spite of that and hoped that no one noticed. Where you loved in actions instead of words. That was how Simon thought Kieren must have seen it, at least. That was how it had always been with Rick, before everything. Simon didn’t mind.

Talking was, for the most part, redundant. It solved nothing that a well-placed touch or a brief kiss couldn’t. So Simon did touch him. And Kieren kissed him back. But sometimes it felt like Simon was kissing half a person. Sometimes it felt like Kieren wasn’t all there.

Simon chalked it up to what was happening with Rick. After Bill had caught him in Rick’s room, Simon had gone back to the Walker's’ house immediately and recounted the entire event to a weary-looking Kieren. When he was done, Kieren had put his head in his hands, shoulders slumped, too exhausted to put up a front of bravery or calmness anymore.

Instead, he fell apart, and Simon was there to hold him together as best as he could. But Simon knew he was duct tape when Kieren needed glue. He could patch up the problem but not fuse the broken pieces back together. Kieren must have known that too, but he didn’t say it. He let Simon hold him until he stopped shaking. He let Simon hear the litany fears that kept him up at night: _What if Rick stays at home and Bill hurts him? What if Rick runs away and I never see him again? What if Rick hates me for not doing more to help him? What if, what if, what if..._

Simon listened to all of it and didn’t pass a word of judgement. He suspected there was something he was holding back from saying, but Simon didn’t push him. It would come out in time. When Kieren’s words eventually ran out, Simon took his face between both of his hands and knelt in front of him. Kieren was sitting at the foot of his bed, so the gesture brought him to eye-level.

“I’m here,” Simon said, just in case Kieren had forgotten.

“You’re not going anywhere?”

Simon touched their foreheads together and spoke into his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even if the whole world goes to shit again?”

“Even then,” Simon agreed.

When Kieren kissed him, everything held together, and Simon pretended for a moment that he could be glue after all.

-

Bill came to her at night, when her parents had long since gone to bed. Lisa was awake, because she always was these days. _Insomnia_ \- her parents had traded the word with guilty, worried glances over toast at breakfast. It hardly mattered. Gave her more time to think, anyway.

Bill had only had the vague outlines of an idea when he had first come to her with his plea to eradicate all of the rotters in Roarton, but Maxine Martin’s arrival had jump-started the beginnings of a real plan.

“Rehabilitation,” Bill spat, “That’s what that MP slag is touting about town.”

Lisa wondered briefly if that wasn’t within the realm of possibility. Maxine Martin worked for the government. Surely... surely there was a modicum of truth to the solution she had presented to them. And it might not be so bad to have an unpaid workforce helping out local businesses and such. Lisa took one look at the livid disdain on Bill’s face and thought better of saying any of that aloud.

“Unbelievable,” Lisa found herself saying instead. “Someone should put her in her place.”

“It’ll be us,” Bill said, determination setting his jaw on edge.

Lisa bit her lip before she could say ‘how?’ Bill wasn’t a man you asked such an open-ended question to. She swallowed and said, “We can’t outright slaughter them. Not unless we want a court summons.”

“Are ye kidding?” Bill barked out an ugly laugh. “We’ll be the heroes of this town after this. Think they loved us after we protected them during the Rising? That’s nothing compared to how it will be when we’re through.”

“But Maxine--” Lisa cut herself off. “But the undead protection act is still in place, Sarge. I’d be risking my future.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Bill said. “I have a plan.”

-

In February of 2002, Victor Halperin sat in a hospital chair and watched his grandmother take her last breath and thought _I won’t let this happen to me._

Two months later he held his father’s hand as he was diagnosed and thought _God, it runs in the family_. At the funeral seven months later his only thought was _how long do I have?_

In the coming months, he thought a lot about death. He thought and thought and thought and finally came to the conclusion that if there was a God out there, who was He to decide who lived and who died? And if there wasn’t a God, shouldn’t there be? Shouldn’t someone decide? It seemed inadvisable for fate to be left up to the whim of an indifferent universe.

-

“You killed one of your distributors.” It wasn’t a question but a dry statement of fact.

“Yes, but--”

“You killed one of the only people capable of getting us close to the subject I most require.”

“Victor, you’re not listening.”

“You are making me regret ever bringing you into this in the first place,” Victor grit out. “Is that what you want? I _saved_ you, Julian. I gave you a second life. The least you can do is show me some fucking respect.”

“I’m sorry,” Julian managed, chastised. Victor knew exactly how to get to him; any mention of how he’d quite literally pulled him from the gutter, bloody and half-alive, to resurrect him, and Julian fell back into line like a carefully placed domino. “It seemed like a good idea. Frankie knew too much. He knew... about us. The Undead Prophet. The test subjects.”

There was a long, weary sigh on the other end of the line. “Did you at least clean up after yourself?”

“I made it seem like it was his own fault. I didn’t-- I wasn’t the one to put a bullet through his head. The living took care of that. The only thing I had to do was force a dose of Blue on him and set him loose in Roarton.”

“That could have been messy,” Victor hissed. “You’re lucky it turned out so well for you.”

“I am,” Julian conceded. “I’ve done more than get rid of him, though.”

“Oh?”

“Frankie’s death turned the ULA completely against the living. They trust me, Victor. And they’re ready to do something big.”

“It’s too soon for that.”

“Why?” Julian couldn’t help himself. He had to know why Victor was so reluctant to proceed. Everything was in place. Just one small push and they could incite a revolution.

“Something strange is happening to Subject 88. The chip I implanted in her spinal column to measure the body’s neural and hormonal fluctuations is reporting back data that should be impossible.”

“How impossible?” Julian wondered aloud.

There was a beat. Then, slowly, “It would appear that Subject 88 is coming back to life.”

-

Simon made them tea, and the three of them sat in the living room of the Bungalow and talked. Amy kept ducking her head to breathe in the steam that was wafting up from the piping hot cup she held in her hands. She did it so often, and with such a look of genuine pleasure on her face, that Kieren was half-convinced she really could smell the light aroma of muscatel drifting up from the Darjeeling tea leaves.

She watched them with a steady, open gaze, eyes flickering back and forth, following their movements. She took a fake sip (Kieren hoped) from her cup and brought it to rest on her lap, smiling.

“I like this,” she announced. At first Kieren thought she meant the tea, but then he saw her motioning between him and Simon. “I thought you two had taken a bit of a break when Simon moved in here. Is it official now?”

Kieren opened his mouth to say yes but Simon beat him to the punch by asking, “Is what official?” in this sly, coy tone, like he was really fooling anyone in the room.

Accordingly, Amy rolled her eyes. “You two are insufferable. I saw you holding hands outside before you came in. And even now you both look like you can hardly stand to sit apart.”

Kieren’s flush became unbearably hot, to the point where he was sure he’d feel feverish if someone pressed a hand to his cheek. “Yes, Amy. We’re...” He ventured to copy her gesture from before and failed spectacularly if the amusement on her face was any indication.

Simon darted a glance at him, looking at once cautious and terribly pleased. His hand, very slowly, crept across the small space between them on the sofa until their pinky fingers were overlapping. Kieren felt an involuntary smile curl on his lips.

“What about you? Anyone special in your life?” Kieren asked, directing the conversation towards Amy in the hopes of alleviating the blush on his face.

“They don’t exactly have match.com for the undead, do they?” Amy said wryly.

Kieren cringed at his own tactlessness but Amy didn’t look the least bit offended. In fact, she looked conspiring. She leaned in close to him and said, “There is someone, though.” Kieren knew the surprise was plain on his face because Amy laughed aloud. “Can you keep a secret, Kieren Walker?”

“I think so, yes,” Kieren said.

Simon snorted beside him.

Amy bit her lip and said, “I may or may not be committing a cross-species offense with one Philip Wilson.”

“ _Phil_?” Kieren stared at her for a moment, open-mouthed. “The same Phil who almost forced you to sit in a segregated area at the Legion?”

“He’s not so bad once you get past all of the ingrained prejudices. He’s actually kind of... sweet. And very gentle in--”

“Okay!” Kieren threw up his hands in defense. “I get it. Good. I’m happy for you, Amy.” Kieren couldn’t quite wrap his head around it yet, but he was. He just hoped that Phil deserved Amy, because Amy deserved the best. Undoubtedly.

“Well,” Amy grinned. “Now that that’s sorted, my tea’s getting cold, so I’m going to put the kettle on again. Anyone for a top up?”

“I’ll have more,” Kieren said.

Amy reached out to take his cup but when her fingers touched the handle he saw that they were shaking very finely. Kieren’s brow furrowed, but before he could ask her if she was all right, she was drawing back with his cup in hand. The leftover tea sloshed onto the floor in little splotches as the shakes intensified. Amy stood there for a moment, frowning at her hands as though they were disobeying her. Kieren watched helplessly as the tremors climbed up her arms until her shoulders were shaking too. One second she was upright and conscious, the next her eyes were rolling back into her head.

Simon and Kieren got to their feet almost in unison, but it was too late. Amy dropped both of the cups to the floor and fell along with them.

-

A sheet of torn paper, folded thrice, tucked into the back pages of a leather bound notebook that reads _Birdwatching_ on its spine, dated 1 February 2009:

 

> _I’ve perfected Genesis. It took months of dedication and trial and error, but my experiments have finally come to fruition. I’ve found a new partner: Dr John Weston. A respectable man, highly intelligent, but not the sort who readily perceives subterfuge. An honest man, you could say. Weston has a past of working with human subjects in clinical trials; thus, I suspect that when the time comes he will not be opposed to the experimentation and monitoring necessary to understand the affected subjects._
> 
> _Genesis was released to the general population two days ago via waterway as a secure compound that is resistant to most chemicals used in the process of water purification. If the rat trials were any indication, it will be months before there are any notable results. The effects of Genesis seem to only manifest after the subject is qualifiably dead. Unfortunately, in a living subject, somatic cells that have been overtaken by the viral RNA will be destroyed by the body’s immune response in three to six months, depending on the host’s immune strength. Those who perish before Genesis is completely eradicated from the system will give the virus time to replicate undisturbed by the body’s aggressive immune response, and thus will reanimate in due time._
> 
> _In rat test subjects, Genesis was able to fully mature within a period of weeks due to the comparative simplicity of their internal structures and their size relative to us. Therefore it is fair to estimate that Genesis will take approximately one year to fully mature in the body of a ‘deceased’ human host._
> 
> _(Note: As a virus normally cannot survive long in a deceased host, there is merit in claiming that all those who have been exposed to Genesis retain an infinitesimal measure of life after death. The virus is remarkable in that respect; it does not truly let those who perish pass into the realm of death. It blurs the line between living and nonliving; animate and inanimate.)_
> 
> _Though the process of Genesis infiltrating the somatic cells and glial cells of a living subject is slow, upon the one year mark it is my hope that all ‘deceased’ subjects who were exposed to Genesis before death will experience a collective reanimation. (Note: This is based on the assumption that most subjects in an affected area will have been exposed within the same relative period, as all living subjects will interact with the contaminated water supply at least once a day on average.)_
> 
> _The only caveat in this design is that I have yet to successfully reverse engineer Genesis to produce an antidote to the host’s post-death state. I have, however, begun working on a serum that will work to reconnect the neural pathways in reanimated subjects. While this has not brought me any closer to my ultimate goal of finding a permanent cure for death, finding a means of controlling reanimation in previously-thought deceased subjects has brought me one large step closer. I have faith that Dr Weston will prove useful in this continuing search. With his help, I will be first to succeed in my field._

-

They didn’t take her to Dr Russo because Simon told Kieren that Amy had mentioned distrusting the man lately. _He didn’t truly understand_ , she had said. Dr Russo was just following the instructions that the treatment center had given him, and the treatment center had its own agenda. According to Amy.

Kieren wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it did seem suspicious that Amy would develop such feelings within a week of Frankie mentioning that Julian and the ULA were tied to Victor Halperin, one of the men responsible for creating the drug that had quelled the rising in the first place. It was hard to wrap his head around.

Simon did, however, advise Kieren to call Philip Wilson. He thought maybe Philip could persuade Shirley to get a fresh batch of Neurotriptyline for Amy. It was entirely possible that whatever she had been taking lately had been faulty. It was also entirely possible that that was just an easier truth to swallow than the fact that Amy might becoming resistant to her medication.

Neither of them proposed the possibility aloud.

Kieren called Philip and asked him if he could work something out with his mum being careful to not to tell him exactly what had happened to Amy, and Phil said he would see what he could do. All the while Simon sat by Amy’s bedside with his hands limp at his sides and a little worried crease at his brow, like he thought he should be dabbing at Amy’s forehead with a cool towelette but knew better than to waste his time.

“Do you think she’ll wake up soon?” Kieren asked hesitantly as he sat beside Simon on Amy’s bed.

“I hope so,” Simon replied. “You know Amy. Who knows how long this has been going on? This probably isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

“She was acting stranger than usual today,” Kieren agreed.

“I did notice that.”

“Do you think...” Kieren trailed off and shook his head. It was too ridiculous to put into words.

Simon frowned and put a hand on Kieren’s knee. “What is it?”

“Do you think she’s feeling things again? Becoming more like us, I mean. More... alive.”

Simon’s eyebrows lifted significantly. “You think Amy is coming back to life?”

“Is that so preposterous?”

“In this world...” Simon’s shoulders hunched in and the crease between his eyebrows deepened into a weary trench. His fingers curled tighter around Kieren’s knee. “Honestly, no.”

Kieren hummed and traced Simon’s knuckles with his fingertips for a moment. He breathed in and slowly out, felt cool air prickle over the back of his neck, and wondered what it was like for Amy, to be trapped inside of a body that she could no longer feel. A body that was fundamentally disconnected from the world around it. A body that was decaying. A body that was at once alive and not alive. Privately, he suspected it wouldn’t be very different from the body he inhabited every night in his dreams.

-

On the back of that same sheet of torn paper, crossed out in places, underlined in others, dated 1 February 2009:

 

> _Post-script: A more cautious man might wonder why I did not spend years of my life perfecting Genesis. After all, my experiments were still in their infancy before I decided to release my design unto the world. To that short-sighted man, I ask this: with what little time we have on this earth, why not make use of it? Why bet on the chance that I might live long enough to see all of my plans through to their conclusion when my own life can end at any time?_
> 
> _Why agonize over trivial imperfections when I hold in my hands the very thing that may bring order to a world of chaos?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still with me, thank you. Comments have been slowly dwindling lately, and with it my confidence in this story has been waning. I still love this universe and these characters, though. And we are, truly, nearing the end.


	28. Bid Our Hold on Happiness

Exactly three months, four days, seven hours, five minutes, and thirty-two seconds before Rick Macy got blown up by an IED and bled out on foreign soil, Kieren Walker drank a glass of a water from the tap in his house.

Exactly five weeks, six hours, ten minutes, and thirteen seconds after he heard about his best friend’s death, Kieren Walker slit his wrist and bled out in a familiar cave.

Exactly two minutes and forty-four seconds after Kieren Walker’s heart stopped, he was resuscitated.

Exactly twenty-eight seconds after Kieren Walker began to breathe on his own again, Genesis latched onto his neuroreceptors and began to proliferate.

-

Maxine Martin had unwittingly provided the template for a perfect storm from the moment she stepped into Roarton Valley. Her Give Back scheme was a ruse, but a necessary one. The people weren’t quite ready to burn the undead at the stake, at least as long as they were walking around pretending to be normal, but they _were_ ready to subjugate them, treat them less like humans and more like work animals. That suited Maxine just fine. Let the undead work, let them stay occupied and under control while she combed through their ranks for First Risen.

Unfortunately, Maxine’s scheme suited Bill Macy even better.

The Give Back scheme not only assured that the undead would be powerless and unarmed for a specific portion of every day, but it also told Bill where they would be and at what time. It took one offhand comment about how a respectable member of the parish council should have access to all of the business records in town before Vicar Oddie was handing him a pilfered copy of Maxine’s roster (obtained by a well-meaning but oblivious Philip Wilson).

Most of the undead had been assigned to mundane jobs like fence duty or a position at the B&B. Rick was one of the lucky blokes who had been assigned sales assistant duty from dawn until late evening every day at the Save ‘n’ Shop. He quietly left the house each morning dressed in his baggy orange bib before Janet woke. Bill had taken to watching his son from his bedroom window, making sure that Rick didn’t stray from the dirt path that led in the direction of the shop. 

Bill couldn’t be too careful about Rick disobeying him again. After all, it wasn’t really Rick he was dealing with. This pale imitation of his son had revealed himself to Bill, and it was only a matter of time before the real one came back. But the false Rick, the _wrong_ Rick, had to be taken care of first. And if Bill wanted to be around to greet his true son, the war hero, when the time came, he would have to be careful. Maxine had shrewd eyes and one finger poised to alert the government of any complications in Roarton Valley at a moment’s notice. 

-

Kieren woke up in a cold sweat more often than not, but every time he did there was someone nearby to talk him through it. Jem spent many early mornings with him. They would play cards or she would let him sketch her until the sun rose and Kieren cat napped on the couch, free of nightmares.

Simon spent some nights with him too, and each time he stayed it was easier to convince him to stay again the next night. When he did stay, they slept spooned together, but any and all touching between them was mostly innocent and over the clothing. Kieren couldn’t explain why exactly he felt the need to keep his physical distance, especially after he had already learned what it was like to have Simon’s hands on him. Nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to let himself be vulnerable with anyone again. 

Not yet. Not when Rick lived every moment in a house with a man who hated what he was. Not when Amy was in danger every moment of her second life. Not when every time he closed his eyes he saw variations of himself, dead or dying, sometimes hurting Simon, sometimes being hurt by him. Sometimes they were both dead. Sometimes it was only him who was dead, and the terrible gnawing hunger he felt when he looked at Simon in those dreams had nothing to do with desire.

-

Days passed. Amy’s hands continued to shake. She linked them behind her back or hid them in the ruffles of her dress when Simon was around the bungalow. She didn’t want to worry them any more than she already had. The look on their faces when she’d finally woken up after collapsing in the living room had been dreadful enough.

Philip didn’t know about the seizures or the fainting spells, either, but it was harder to hide from him. Sometimes they’d be sitting out in the field together, and Philip would reach over to hold her hand but Amy would have to draw back sheepishly. She’d tuck a lock of hair behind her eyes, smile coyly, make some comment about how it was chilly out and holding her hand would only make him colder. Philip looked at her strangely sometimes, but he’d never push her. Generally she liked that about him, but sometimes his passiveness was frustrating too. Sometimes she wanted to shake him and say: _Look at me. I mean really look at me, Philip. Do you know who I am? Do you know_ what _I am?_

But she stayed quiet instead. She hid her shaking hands. She smiled through gritted teeth when her gut sometimes did a sickening lurch, like it was trying to digest itself despite being decrepit and full of black sludge, dead like the rest of her. She told everyone she was okay even though sometimes she felt like her own terror would consume her whole. 

-

Kieren nudged Simon’s shoulder with his toe. Simon twisted around from where he was lounging at the foot of Kieren’s bed and gave him an uncertain, questioning smile. Kieren had put down his graphite pencil and set his sketch pad aside, which Simon generally took as a bad sign. Kieren had been drawing a lot more lately, and usually nothing could interrupt him when he was in the middle of a sketch, short of a natural disaster. But Kieren only had a thoughtful look on his face.

“Do you think,” he began slowly. “I should tell my dad about us?”

Simon tensed and tried not to show it. “Has this been on your mind for a while?” he asked, evading the question.

Kieren shrugged. “Don’t you think it’s long past due? I don’t like hiding things from my parents.”

“That’s not what I would have said at twenty.” Simon snorted good-naturedly. “But it’s your choice to make.”

“And you’re okay with it either way?”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Simon raised an eyebrow. Kieren looked away, mouth twisting downwards. Simon rolled over so that he was fully facing Kieren and scooted further up the bed. He made an effort to catch Kieren’s eyes before he said, “Of course, Kieren. I’ll support whatever you want to do.”

Kieren let out a odd little laugh that sounded half self-deprecating, half nervous. He swiped a hand over his face and said, “Thank you. I mean, I knew you would, but I was still worried. I’m sort of-- scared, I suppose. I don’t know how my dad will take it.” 

“Steve loves you,” Simon said seriously, “More than anything. He’s a bit oblivious, but he’s got a good heart.”

“Yeah?” Kieren laughed. “That’s exactly what my mum said when I came out to her.”

Simon grinned and pressed a chaste kiss to Kieren’s cheek. In turn, Kieren nuzzled into his temple and dropped his head to rest in the crook of his neck. He stilled there for a moment, warm breath puffing out against the fabric of Simon’s jumper. Simon carded his fingers through the short golden hairs at the base of his neck, and Kieren made a small noise of content, mumbling something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“I said 'you make it easier.’”

“I make what easier?”

“Everything.” Kieren shrugged. “Just... everything.”  

-

The rotters were easy to capture. The male had gotten trapped under Bill’s net easily enough, and it had only taken him and Dean to tie him up and throw him into the back of the pick-up. From there, it was astonishingly simple to gag him and throw him under a tarp. The blonde female rotter was harder to capture. She was feistier, and working out by the fence meant that she was under surveillance almost all day. 

But Bill intercepted her on a lonely stretch of dirt road on her way home, and though she put up a fight, it only took a few more minutes to subdue her effectively and throw her in the boot with the male.

There was another female rotter that Bill would have liked to take, a particularly nasty one who flaunted her decaying body for all of Roarton to see, but she was more trouble than she was worth. Philip Wilson stuck by her side practically every moment of the day, and he had even recruited her to working as his assistant to Maxine for Give Back scheme. There was no way Bill could have captured her without drawing unnecessary attention.

Bill captured his son last. Janet took her sleeping pills at dusk as usual, and by the time Rick came home from his long shift at the Save ‘n’ Shop, there was no one awake to hear the struggle. Or what should have been the struggle. When Bill knocked his son to the floor and held him down with the full force of his weight while he tied him up, Rick went limp like a man who had long ago resigned himself to his own execution. This was even further proof, Bill thought, that this Rick was not his real son. _His_ son would have put up a fight. _His_ son would not have laid prostrate on the floor and let himself be taken like a pansy. _His_ son would not have surrendered at all.

At the end of the day Bill had managed to round up five rotters including Rick, none of whom would be missed by the townspeople. That was phase one. When Lisa had handed over the body of the rabid rotter in the cemetery, she had unwittingly given Bill everything he needed to begin phase two. 

But phase two was messier. If the rotters had put a fight while being captured, they were downright unruly when Bill cracked open a small pill and and tried to get them to ingest the blue power that was inside. He couldn’t get it within a few feet of their mouths before they started snapping at his fingers like the wild animals they were. He couldn’t even get them to snort the powder because no matter how long he held it in front of their noses, they could hold their breath indefinitely. In the end, Bill loaded a duffel bag full of arms, and drove Dean, Lisa, and the rotters out to the field bordering the cemetery. He lined the rotters up execution style and got Lisa to tie them all up even more securely and Dean to hold their heads down by their hair.

Then, one by one, Bill rubbed the powder into the holes on the back of their necks and watched with relish as the blue was slowly absorbed by the oozing black. He did his son last. Rick flinched violently when Bill touched him, but he didn’t make a sound 

 _Deep down, he knows what he is,_ Bill thought. _He knows he deserves this._

He didn’t spare Rick a last look before he turned away.

When it was done, Bill ordered Lisa to cut their ties and then the three of them ran back to the pick-up and drove off as fast they could. They were going to circle around the cemetery and follow the rotters to wherever they wandered off to. Then phase three would come.

“How do ye know what that blue shite will do to them?” Dean asked once they were a safe distance away.

“We don’t know for sure,” Lisa answered quietly, “but the rotter I killed in the cemetery had it smeared under his nose when I shot him, and the news keeps talking about ‘Blue Oblivion’ being the new undead fad. Apparently it makes them turn rabid again.”

Dean scratched at his scraggly blond hair and seemed to consider this a moment. Then he said, “But won’t they attack the townspeople, Sarge?”

Bill kept his eyes on the road as he answered shortly, “We’ll be there to protect them.” 

-

It didn’t take much effort at all to get everyone sitting at the dinner table in the Walker household. Sue only had to say that she was making beef stew to get Steve to promise that he wouldn’t work an extra shift and would be home by dinner, and Kieren only had to give Jem one pleading look for her to agree to eat with them instead of staying out with her friends for hours in the evening like she sometimes did these days. (Though Kieren was immeasurably glad that his little sister seemed so well adjusted, considering everything they’d been through. Everything _he_ had put her through.)

Dinner was quiet at first. They weren’t used to Simon eating with them anymore, as he usually took dinner down by the bungalow these days. No matter how much Kieren insisted it was still okay to eat with them, Simon had said he felt like he was imposing. Kieren had finally given up on inviting him after a month straight of being turned down. But tonight he was here specifically because Kieren had said he needed him. 

Sue surreptitiously darted a look at Kieren as she ladled a first helping of stew into her bowl. Steve was already eating, albeit slowly, like he expected that something was coming but had no idea how to prepare for it. Jem was smirking between mouthfuls like a cat that knew exactly where the cream was and knew she was going to get it soon.

Halfway through his first bowl of stew, Kieren dropped his spoon. He couldn’t take the silence anymore. “So, er,” he said eloquently. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all something.”

Sue and Jem exchanged a look. Kieren knew they probably had a pretty good idea of what was going on. Steve was the only one still completely in the dark.

Kieren swallowed. Then he felt Simon touch his fingers under the table, felt the warmth of his palm against his own skin, and he started breathing normally again. “Simon and I,” he paused, swallowed again, looked at Steve briefly and then back down at the table, “we’re...”

He looked at Simon desperately for help, but Simon only smiled softly, encouraging. Kieren knew this was something he had to do on his own, for himself. He shored up his courage and said it in one go: “Simon and I are together.” His voice barely shook. He looked up.

Steve was staring at Kieren blankly. With excruciating slowness, his gaze dragged over to Simon. He blinked twice, then said, “Well, Simon’s a nice bloke, isn’t he?” 

He looked at Sue as if to ask for confirmation. Sue nodded, smiling with the same encouragement Simon had just done. Then she looked over at Kieren and her grin grew even wider, until her eyes were practically shining with something akin to pride, except warmer. From the other side of the table, Jem was positively beaming. She rolled her eyes when Kieren looked at her, but even then the smile didn’t drop off her face. Kieren relaxed.

“So, you’re saying... you’re okay with...?” Kieren gestured between him and Simon, some of his hesitance returning.

“I can’t say I’m not surprised,” Steve said. In a rare moment of emotional honesty, he added, “But you’re my son, Kier. I-- _we_ almost lost you. This is nothing compared to that.”

“Oh,” Kieren said. Out of every response he’d expected, it hadn’t been that. “That’s... good. I mean-- thank you,” he said haltingly.

Steve shrugged, then levelled Simon with a heavy gaze. “I’ve always liked you, Simon. But if you’re not good to my son...”

“I understand,” Simon said solemnly without a hint of hesitation.

Steve nodded once. “And, er, I hope I don’t have to tell you two to be--” he cut himself off with a helpless vague gesture and again looked towards his wife.  

Sue’s smile became slightly strained. “I think what Steve is trying to say is that we want you both to be... responsible.”

“Mum,” Kieren began, pained. Simon squeezed his hand under the table. “Yeah, I-- we _know_.”

There was a silence. Jem coughed. Steve scraped the bottom of his empty plate like more stew might appear if he just looked hard enough. Finally Sue picked up the ladle and addressed the whole table: “Anyone for another helping?”

-

Lisa had always known, somewhere in the back of her mind, that Bill Macy was unhinged. It would take a fool not to have noticed. Unfortunately, Roarton was full of fools.

Bill’s plan was insane. It was so ludicrous, in fact, that it took everything Lisa had not to scoff in disbelief when he first presented to her. Perhaps the scariest part was that it might actually work. 

Lisa didn’t quite know what to do with that information. She thought of the unadulterated hatred, the pure vitriol in Bill’s tone when he talked about the undead. Then she thought about the look on the face of that boy - Kieren - in the Save ‘n’ Shop when he had found his undead friend; Amy, her name was (all of the townspeople had come to know her name; she was hard to ignore). The determination in Kieren's eyes that day told her everything she needed to know: he loved her. He would have done everything in his power to save her.

Lisa wondered what it was like to love someone like that, and what it was like to _be_ loved like that. She loved her parents, of course, but it wasn’t the same. She was _supposed_ to love them. And they loved her because she was their child. She hadn’t really had a choice in the matter.

Lisa also wondered if it had been worth it for Kieren to save Amy. Lisa saw her walking around town sometimes. She didn’t wear cover up. She was proud of who she was. A part of Lisa was envious of that. Lisa had never felt so comfortable in her own skin. And how was that fair? Lisa was alive. She had a beating heart and red blood running through her veins. Shouldn’t that have been enough? What right did a corpse have to love themselves when Lisa couldn’t even begin to feel the same way about herself?

But no matter her own personal hang-ups on the matter, Lisa couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit glad that she hadn’t pulled the trigger that day. Though it was grating to see the undead girl walking around so courageously sometimes, Lisa could not say definitively that she deserved to die. In any case, she certainly wouldn’t have been able to pull the trigger on her now, even if Bill told her to.

And that was what, ultimately, made Lisa pick up the phone and call a number that she hadn’t dialed in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all of the lovely comments lately! i promise i will respond to all of them soon. instead you get this chapter, written less than a month after the last one. amazing! also this chapter was written between 2am and 7:30 am last night so... if you spot any big errors/americanisms, that's why. and please let me know. love you all <3 the end is nigh 
> 
> (chap title credit goes to Lofticries by Purity Ring. Great band if ur into that kinda stuff.)


	29. The the Earth Shook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> title from "Sim Bala Sim" by Fleet Foxes.

“Simon,” a pause, hesitant, “I’m afraid.”

Simon knew this voice, though he hadn’t heard it in quite some time. “Lisa?”

“It’s me,” she said. Her voice was shakier than he remembered. 

“Did something happen?” 

“Yes, “ another pause, this one heavy with tension; Simon thought he could hear her breathing raggedly on the other end, “it’s Bill.”

Simon’s hair immediately stood on end. “Lisa, what is it? What has he done?”

“He’s... he’s gone and made some rotters turn rabid with Blue Oblivion. He-- he had me help him, Simon. It was awful. He’s set them loose about town now. You have to stop it before they hurt people.” 

“I don’t know what to do,” Simon admitted. He wasn’t an expert on these things, to say the least. He hadn’t even been a part of the HVF for almost a year. 

“You _have_ to help,” Lisa stressed. “Please. Bill plans to kill all of the rotters, I think. Publicly. If he succeeds...” 

Lisa didn’t have to finish. Simon got the picture. If Bill painted himself as the downtrodden hero of Roarton again, he would turn public sentiment from moderate distaste of the undead to absolute hatred. He’d have free reign to annihilate them all. 

“Who did he give the Blue Oblivion to?”

“Er, I dunno. There were five in total: a blonde woman -- Zoe, I think her name was -- and her cousin, Brian. Then another man and a woman. I don’t know the names of either. And there was also... Rick.”

“Rick Macy?” Simon echoed, feeling vaguely ill. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think Bill would actually go through with it -- I mean, his own _son_ for God’s sake-- but he’s become completely delusional. Totally beyond reason,” Lisa said. “I wouldn’t have called you, but you’re the only reasonable person I know. And you’re a decent shot.” 

“Okay,” said Simon. “I understand. I’ll meet you ‘round back of the B&B in five, yeah?”

“Right.” There was a silence, and then Lisa tried to speak again, but her voice was oddly strained and thick. “Listen, Simon, I’m... I’m--”

“There’s no time for that,” Simon snapped. Under normal circumstances he would have at least heard Lisa out, but now the fate of several unde-- several _people_ was in his hands, and he was overwhelmed at the prospect of failing them.

Lisa hung up without another word and Simon immediately began rifling through his nightstand for the pistol that he still hadn’t gotten rid of. Once found, he checked the magazine and tucked it into his waistband. Then he pulled on his sturdiest boots, and Amy stepped out into the foyer just as he’d finished doing the laces up. 

“Going somewhere?” she asked, smiling cheekily. 

“Yes,” Simon said absently. “Out.”

“Out where?” 

“Just--” he turned around to tell her that it was nothing, that he was just going to check on Kieren, but he saw the look on Amy’s face and stopped in his tracks. She was worried. She could tell just from his expression that something was very wrong. 

“I know you’re not going to see Kieren; you just left his house an hour ago. What’s going on, Simon?”

“There’s a situation,” Simon confessed, “with Bill Macy. But I’ll be gone and back before you know it, okay?” 

On impulse, he leaned into her and kissed her cheek. She was... warmer than he expected. And it must have been a trick of the light, but she looked a little flushed, too. He stepped back to look at her. Such a gesture normally would have calmed her, but Amy didn’t look reassured at all. But she folded her arms across her chest and said only, “Be careful, Simon.” 

“I will.” Simon paused at the door for a moment.“And Amy? Don’t go out for a while.” 

-

Roarton seemed quiet enough when Simon stepped outside, but he knew how deceiving that could be. He still remembered with almost unnerving clarity the complete stillness in the air just before the dead had first risen from their graves.

Lisa was standing half-obscured by an ugly, dying rose bush in the back garden of the B&B when Simon got there. She flashed her teeth at him when he came close, but it was more of a grimace than a smile. 

“Long time no see,” she said. 

“Where did Bill leave the PDS sufferers?”

“By the cemetery,” Lisa answered, unthrown by his lack of courtesy. “We cut their ties and drove off. Then Bill gave us radios and had us all split up so we could cover more ground.”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“Me ‘n Dean. No one else was crazy or stupid enough to help. Or as easy to manipulate.” Lisa looked ashamed as she said it, but again there was no time to console her. “Bill sent Dean to the Save ‘n’ Shop and then headed towards the parish building. I think he’s expecting that some of the rotters will roam in that direction.” 

“The parish is in the center of town. Some of them are bound to end up there,” Simon rationalized, and Lisa nodded. “So, how do you propose we stop them?”

“I’ve got ropes,” Lisa said, pulling out a coil from her back pocket. “And a colt. That’s about it.” 

“I have my pistol,” Simon said. “Are you suggesting we take down the PDS sufferers? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” 

“No, I think we should try to nonviolently take as many of them as we can and tie them up until they’re no longer a danger to anyone.” 

“Good, because I’m not killing any of them.”

“Well, if one of them attacks you or a civilian--”

“I’m _not_ killing any of them,” Simon repeated firmly. “And I don’t think you should either. Our goal is to disarm Bill and restrain the PDS sufferers who he’s forcibly made rabid. We treat them the same way we’d treat a living person. Do you understand?”

“Then what’s the pistol for?” Lisa challenged. 

“The pistol is for Bill,” Simon said, “if need be.” 

Lisa looked at him a moment, eyes dark, before nodding once. “Got it.” 

“Stay out of this if you can,” Simon advised Lisa. “You don’t need Bill targeting you anymore than he already has.” 

Lisa reluctantly agreed. “I’ll go check the perimeter of the cemetery and see if any rabids are still roaming ‘round there.” She gave Simon some of her rope, though she kept her colt firmly holstered at her side, and took off down the block. 

Simon went the to parish building in silence, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible to the people out and about; there was no need to cause undue panic. It was late afternoon, and many townspeople were running last minute errands before supper or simply enjoying the nice weather. Bill had picked a perfect time to do this. He’d have a lot of witnesses, and Simon was willing to bet that most of them would be sympathetic towards him.

Simon approached from the rear. Bill was leaning against the north side of the building smoking with a firearm holstered on his thigh and (Simon suspected) at least several knives stashed on his person. Simon waited several meters behind Bill under a shadowy awning, close enough to reach him within seconds if he sprinted. 

He waited there for several minutes, poised in unbearable silence, before a lumbering figure began shambling down the block. Simon couldn’t make out any distinct features except that he was male: tall and broad-shouldered with tousled black hair. As he got closer he saw that his mouth and the whole front of his t-shirt was stained in an oozing black gelatinous substance. 

Simon watched as Bill fingered his gun casually, like he was about to try his luck at a shooting game rather than kill an unarmed human being in the street. But he didn’t make any move to take the gun out, which Simon was surprised by until he followed the tilt of Bill’s head and saw what his eyes must have been trained on: Ken Burton hurrying down the block, head down as it always seemed to be these days, paying no mind to the world around him. 

Ken was going too fast from too far away for Simon to step in before things went bad. He got within one foot of the rabid before he looked up and saw it looming over him. In that moment, the undead man looked nothing at all like a man and every bit of the monster that people thought they were. Simon watched Ken’s face twist and transform into an ugly facsimile of itself. He looked not angry or terrified, but simply like a man who had already accepted his fate: resigned. 

Still, Ken couldn’t keep himself from crying out when the rabid reached out one massive hand to claw at him with gnarled fingers, animal sounds tearing from its mouth. Ken stumbled back a few feet until his shoes hit the kerb and he stumbled, falling to the ground and knocking himself unconscious on the black tarmac. The parcel he was holding fell to the ground, and tomatoes rolled out into the street one by one. It might have been comical if not for the slow but inexorable advancement of the rabid on Ken’s still body. 

All the while, Bill was watching silently from a distance, hidden from plain sight by the overgrown greenery and untrimmed hedges of the parish council building. Simon was about to intervene when someone poked their head out of a window of a nearby house and screamed. The noise drew several other curious heads to look out of first and second-story windows, and soon all of the commotion had gathered a small crowd of spectators who viewed from a distance, paralyzed with fear and unwilling to endanger themselves by stepping in against a rabid. Most townspeople had been traumatized enough by the rising. Hell, the majority of them hadn’t ever had to kill a rabid; the HVF had taken care of all of that for them.

It was then, once several horrified pairs of eyes were watching the scene in abject horror, that Bill stepped in. He sprung into action like a rattlesnake that had been coiled to strike, drawing his gun and shouting to draw the rabid’s attention. The man’s hollow pinprick eyes flicked from Ken to Bill. He seemed to hesitate a moment before slowly shuffling over to him instead, stepping on Ken’s hand as he went. 

Bill steadied his hold on the gun and aimed, but Simon had already broken forward at a dead sprint. He caught up to Bill as his finger slid from the trigger guard to the trigger, just in time to jostle him enough that he misfired. The shot glanced off the pavement just to the right of the rabid and only centimeters from Ken’s still outstretched hand. 

Bill whipped around viciously, snarling almost as badly as the rabid, eyes black with feverish anger. When he saw it was Simon who had stopped him, he immediately swung out his free hand to try to catch him in the jaw, but Simon ducked and retaliated with a forceful shove to Bill’s shoulder that made him back up a few steps, unsteady.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Simon was sure he would have trained the gun on him had the townspeople not still been watching carefully from their windows. You didn’t win back favor or trust by killing a living person, regardless of whether or not they belonged in town. In the presence of the dead, living people had become off-limits by some unspoken but pervasive social agreement. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Simon said, ignoring the question. He didn’t want to implicate Lisa in all of this. 

“What, and you’ve come to save us all?” Bill turned away as if he was addressing the entire street. “Oi, do us a favor and get off yer fuckin’ high horse, Monroe. You don’t belong here.”

The rabid approaching them was edging dangerously close now. Simon sidestepped Bill and tackled it from the side, like he’d done on countless hunts with the HVF. The rabid was big but clumsy, and he went down without much of a struggle. Simon quickly pinned him on his stomach with his knees in the small of his back and tied his hands in an intricate knot that he knew wouldn’t come out, then did the same to his feet. 

Bill was spluttering like he was going to throw a tantrum, but there wasn’t much he could do. It was clear the rabid was no longer a threat to anyone. Shooting him now would look cruel. Still, Bill looked towards the people watching them and said, “That _thing_ tried to kill Ken Burton.” 

There were a few murmurs of agreement, but no one called for the rabid to be executed. Satisfied that he’d won this round, Simon turned to look at the crowd that had gathered on the other side of the street, intending to tell them that they should disperse, but saw that they were all ignoring him. Their eyes were fixed on a spot in the distance over Simon’s shoulder. One of them pointed. 

Simon swivelled on his heel and saw the last thing he wanted to see: two more figures stumbling down the block. One of them was blonde, small, clearly female. The other was larger, male, with short-cropped brown hair. The first one must have been the girl Lisa said was Zoe. And the other-- the other was Rick.

A hush fell over the spectators, and Simon didn’t have to tell them to back up; the crowd had scattered on its own. Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw Bill raise his own gun to eye-level and aim it at the female rabid. As she got closer it was apparent that her mouth and chin were covered not only with black goo but with fresh blood that dripped from her slack jaw and stained the entire front of her white t-shirt crimson red. She bared her teeth at the them and he saw bits of flesh hanging raggedly from between her teeth. Beside her, Rick’s mouth was comparatively clean, but his fingertips were stained red. 

Simon’s stomach lurched. Bill aimed at the girl, Zoe, first. Simon stepped in front of him and Bill growled, nudging him in the chest with the barrel. Simon didn’t budge. 

The townspeople were alight with fresh tension. It electrified the air with a sense of anticipation; Simon could sense the difference from before. They saw the state of Zoe and they knew what she had done. They were just as blood hungry as she was. The veil of civility had been lifted from their eyes, and blind hatred was restored: Zoe and Rick were monsters in their eyes. And the townspeople wanted them both dead. 

“They’re still people, Bill,” Simon said desperately, knowing that he was losing his grasp on the situation rapidly. “That girl is Zoe, and the other one is Rick, your _son_ , remember? You don’t want to kill them.”

But there was no use reasoning with a mad man. Simon could see that his words meant nothing the moment they left his mouth. Bill’s eyes were blank, “Move,” Bill said, staring straight ahead, hand unwavering where it held the gun against Simon’s chest. 

Simon felt the air shift behind him. His skin prickled, alerting him to the fact that Zoe and Rick were almost close enough to touch him now. 

“No.”

-

Maxine shuffled and reshuffled her papers. It was a quiet day at the B&B, but her head was pounding. All of the evidence, all of the testimonies, she had gathered so far amounted to nothing. Sandra had been hiding something from her, but she didn’t look like she was willing to talk anytime soon.

Maxine just wanted this done. She could almost hear her little brother’s voice calling out to her again, almost feel the weight of him in her arms. He’d come back whole and right and beautiful, just as she remembered him. When she closed her eyes, she saw his brown eyes, so like hers, staring back at her. 

In her dreams it always went the same: he smiled at her, asking to play outside, clutching his little red train in his small hands. She said, yes, distracted by a TV programme, and ten minutes later she was watching his blood spill out onto the sidewalk as a car pulled away and sped down the block. She had been too disoriented to even look at the license number, but it didn’t matter. It was her fault. 

She had to make it right. 

-

 _Don’t go out for a while._ Like she was a caged animal. Amy scoffed and shrugged on her late nan’s light pink pea coat and her walking shoes. She would go to Kieren’s. Amy hadn’t seen him since she passed out during tea, and she wanted to reassure him that all was well with her. Besides, she could use some company - and she was sure Kieren could, too. She wasn’t going to lock herself inside the bungalow for days just because people couldn’t handle the sight of her face. That was too bad. What kind of life could she live as a hermit?

The streets were suspiciously quiet, but she thought nothing of it. It was almost evening, and most people were sitting ‘round the dinner table with their families eating supper and laughing together in the warmth of their homes. Amy felt a pang in her chest as she thought of that scene. She would have liked something similar, once. A family. Philip came to mind but she shook her head immediately to clear the thought. He couldn’t make a life with someone like her. Not really. 

Amy took a detour through the center of town because it was pleasant out and she figured she had plenty of time to get to where she was going. She realised her mistake as soon as she got onto the main road. The quality of silence changed suddenly, becoming more sinister, like something was lying in wait. 

Amy crept up the block in the direction of the parish building. At first she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. There was a man holding a gun to someone else, and two figures advancing on both of them. It didn’t take long for her to identify the man standing in front of the gun. She knew the breadth of those shoulders by now. Simon. 

Amy was running before she realised she was even moving. She was clumsier these days, but she didn’t have the same limitations as a living person did. But now as she ran her lungs burned and clenched within her chest like they hadn’t since she rose from the grave, and it slowed her down. She got close just in time to watch Zoe - Amy _knew_ her, they’d traded Rising stories soon after Amy had come back from the treatment center, and Zoe was one of the first undead person to welcome her back to Roarton - sink her fingers into Simon’s shoulder and her teeth into his neck, tearing his flesh with the force of her grip. An inch higher and her teeth would be at his jugular. 

Amy put her arms around Zoe’s chest and wrenched her backwards with all of her strength. Caught off guard, Zoe struggled but ultimately couldn’t catch her balance soon enough. She fell back against Amy’s chest and emitted a sound that resembled a howl. 

Simon whipped around, ignoring the blood rushing from his shoulder and neck. Horror dawned on his face when he saw her. “Amy, _no_.”

“You can’t have expected me to stay locked up inside all day,” Amy panted, fighting to keep her hands linked tightly around Zoe, who looked like she would break free at any moment.

Forgetting the gun entirely, Simon broke away from Bill and rushed to help her. He pulled a length of rope out of his pocket and handed her one end of it, and together they hurried to tie Zoe’s hands and feet so that she was immobile. 

Behind them a shot rang out. 

Simon froze. Amy saw the fear in his face, and a part of her wanted to keep him from turning around and seeing what she could see. But she was helpless to stop him. Simon did turn, and she knew the moment he saw what she did because his shoulders hunched like the breath had been punched out of him. 

Bill stood solitary in the street, looking down at the corpse of his own son dispassionately. 

-

Simon lunged, and all at once Bill was underneath him on the ground and Simon was pulling his fist back and Bill’s blood was on his knuckles and Simon couldn’t see through the haze that had clouded his vision and, and-- 

Someone was pulling him back. Small hands, nails painted coral, hair smelling vaguely of dried flowers. Amy. Simon took care not to hurt her as he writhed in her grasp, trying to pull away. 

Bill scrambled to stand up, spitting blood at his feet. “Don’t think I won’t shoot yer rotten girlfriend, too,” he was saying, and Simon was surging forward again with all of his strength, arms swinging wildly. 

But Amy held fast, and she was stronger than he expected. “This isn’t your fight,” Amy said softly, into his ear. 

Somehow that was all it took. Simon went limp, all of the fight leaving him in one breath. He slumped against Amy, and without her supporting his weight he knew he would have fallen. The wound that Zoe had given him was pulsing fresh blood in rivulets down the side of his shirt, aggravated from all of his movement. 

Simon tasted bile on his tongue and knew that it had nothing to do with all of the blood. He was thinking of Rick, still only eighteen and dead at the hands of a father who hadn’t loved him enough. Who hadn’t understood him at all. And what of Kieren? Simon remembered the look he’d had on his face when he first told Simon about why he had tried to kill himself. How could he put Kieren through that again? 

Simon hated himself for turning away for even one second. If he hadn’t taken the time to tie Zoe up, if he had stayed in front of the gun, if, if, if... He felt himself get light-headed and fought viciously to keep awake, but his head was spinning too fast and the ground felt insubstantial beneath him. Distantly, he heard Bill babbling hysterically, almost as if he was talking himself down from the edge of a cliff. 

“Had to be done. Had to be done. _I _had to do it.” There was a long silence. Simon struggled to rake in breath, feeling like he was drowning in quicksand, and Bill’s words filled his ears with false justifications again: “They brought this upon themselves. They _wanted_ to go rabid. We have to-- have to get rid of ‘em all. Liable to attack us at any time; they’re-- I had to--”__

__The last thing Simon was conscious of before the world slipped away was a sound that exploded in the air all around them, rattling him down to his bones. Another gun shot._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who've stuck around. Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. I didn't want to post it until I had written the next few chapters just to make sure everything was cohesive since we're almost at the end & I want to make sure I tie everything up. I've got the next three written and pretty much ready to be posted, so they will be up much sooner. 
> 
> It's finals week tho, so I'm also swamped. I promise I will answer your comments ASAP! Love you all. <3
> 
> Trust me, there are a lot of... exciting things coming up. To say the least.


	30. Our Souls to Keep

Lisa arrived when the barrel of Simon’s pistol was still smoking in Ken Burton’s hand. The burly old man wiped a stray drop of blood from his hairline, tucked the pistol into the deep pockets of his raincoat, and wobbled down the block in the direction of his house. No one made a move to stop him.

Bill’s body was the first Lisa saw. Between his chest and his stomach was a gaping wound that bled red into the streets like paint spilled from an open bucket. Lisa tried to feel something, but all she could manage was a sour taste in her mouth.

Then she saw the rest: a male rotter tied up near where Ken had just been standing, and Zoe tied up similarly several meters to the right, near where Simon had collapsed in a heap on top of Amy Dyer. Right in front of them was another body: Rick Macy. Lisa felt her gut twist painfully and barely made it to Simon and Amy before dropping down to her knees in front of them. 

“What happened?” she asked. 

Amy had her hands cupped to Simon’s neck and shoulder and was watching helplessly as his blood spilled out over her fingers. 

“Won’t stop bleeding,” Amy said. “Help me.” 

Lisa looked up and made eye contact with her for the first time since she’d tried to shoot her in the Save ‘n’ Shop back when Amy was rabid. She hadn’t known anything about her then other than that she was a threat. 

Amy’s eyes were still sallow with tiny black pinpricks for pupils. There should have nothing human about them, and Lisa should have felt nothing looking at her, just like she had felt nothing when looking into the eyes of the rabid she’d shot in the cemetery, but instead an immense wave of sympathy welled up in her chest. Lisa fought back an unexpected rush of tears; this was the first thing she had really felt in months, maybe years. 

Lisa stripped off the jumper she was wearing over her undershirt and began tearing off a piece of fabric from the bottom hem. She handed it to Amy and said, “Hold this against his shoulder.” Then she store off another piece of fabric and wrapped up the wound on his neck as neatly as she could while Amy helped to stem the bleeding. She did the same to his shoulder next. 

“That’s good enough for now,” Lisa said. “He’ll be out for a while; it looks like he’s lost a bit of blood. We should get him to the clinic.” 

“And what about Zoe and Brian?” Amy gestured to the two tied-up rotters, who were slowly shaking their heads and blinking, looking much less rabid and much more disoriented. 

“They can come too,” Lisa said without thinking. They both looked down at Simon at the same time. “But how are we going to get him there?” 

“The Walkers have a car,” Amy said quietly. She looked like she wouldn’t have suggested it if Simon didn’t look so pale. Jem nodded and got out her phone.

“I have Jem’s number. I’ll ring her.” 

“Wait,” Amy said. She closed her eyes briefly. “Don’t. Don’t...” Her eyes strayed to Rick’s body. She gestured helplessly. 

“Amy,” Lisa said as gently as she could. It was the first time she’d ever called her by name. “They’re going to find out eventually. Right now our priority is Simon.” 

Amy nodded and visibly steeled herself. “You’re right.” 

Lisa made the call. 

-

Simon woke up to a searing pain in his shoulder and immediately tried to sit up in his chair. He strained against the pressure that suddenly fell upon his chest, holding him down.

“Whoa, whoa,” a male voice said. “You may be all stitched up, but you’re certainly not ready to go running places.” 

Simon opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on but no sound came out at first. He opened his eyes but his vision was too blurry to make anything out but shapes. He tried again and managed, “What?”

“You’ve lost a fair amount of blood,” the same voice said, still holding him in place against a hard, unyielding surface. “Those girls were right to bring you here so fast. And you’re lucky that that Walker kid is a universal donor or you’d be out of luck; we were running low on B positive...”

“Shut up,” Simon snapped, losing his patience. He’d gathered that he was at the clinic, talking to the doctor - Dr Russo, from the sound of it - but everything else was still hazy. He swallowed and shook his head to clear it more, but pain stabbed so sharp and sudden in his neck that he winced and closed his eyes again. “What happened?” he finally said, giving up on movement for the time being. 

“Oh, I don’t know the full story,” Dr Russo replied. “A whole group of your friends carried you in. Amy Dyer told me you were attacked, but she wouldn’t say by who. The Walker children came in with them - nice family, really - and Kieren was the one who gave you the blood you needed.” Dr Russo sighed. “It’s a shame what happened to... Well, I don’t want to upset you further.” 

But Dr Russo didn’t need to say anything else. It was coming back to Simon now, all at once. He remembered the last thing he saw before everything went black. He felt sick.

“Rick’s dead.” It wasn’t a question.

Dr Russo sighed again. “I did what I could, but--”

“Where is he?”

“I left the body in the other examination room. Protocol requires that I report a deceased PDS sufferer to the Bureau of PDS Affairs within twenty-four hours of being found, so I supposed that I could give his loved ones some time to mourn. Kieren is with him now.” 

Simon opened his eyes and pushed himself up in one moment, ignoring the searing pain that shot through every inch of his upper body. His vision had sharpened enough to make out the expression of horror on Dr Russo’s face, but Simon stumbled to his feet and pushed past him without a word. 

Amy saw him first. She shot up from her chair in the waiting room and said, “Simon, you shouldn’t--” But Simon was already opening the door of the examination room to his right and stepping inside. The door closed behind him. 

Kieren had his back to Simon, standing over a metal examination table with a sheet draped over it. Underneath the sheet, Simon knew, was Rick’s corpse. Kieren himself was unnervingly still. He was swimming in a cable knit jumper and black boots that were at least a size too big, as though he’d gotten dressed in a hurry. His golden hair was in complete disarray atop his head.

Simon took a step forward. Kieren didn’t acknowledge his presence. Another step. Two more. Soon he was standing over Kieren’s shoulder, close enough to smell the cherry blossom ginseng of his hair. Jem’s shampoo again. A rush of fondness caught in his chest, immediately followed by a rush of despair. Every inhale was like breathing in shards of glass. 

He waited for Kieren to speak first. He knew “I’m sorry” wouldn’t be enough.

“Amy told me everything,” Kieren said finally. His voice was measured, steady. “But I want to hear it from you.” He didn’t turn around or move at all. “Did you let him die?”

“Kie--”

“Did you let him die?” Kieren repeated, slower and more quietly now. 

“I tried to protect him,” Simon said, biting back an unbidden swell of tears. He swallowed. “I... I tried to protect all of them. But I was distracted helping Zoe, and-- and Bill shot before I could stop him.” 

Kieren finally turned to face him. His eyes were like Bill’s had been at the end: empty. They said everything he wasn’t saying aloud: _So you did let him die. You did. You didn’t save him._

“Get out.”

“Kieren.”

“Get. Out.”

Simon’s head fell. He backed up a few steps. Kieren’s eyes were still empty, empty, empty. Simon knew better than to make him repeat himself. He left. 

-

Later, Amy told him the entire story. Simon made himself sit still and listen as she recounted every excruciating second of it. She told him that Ken Burton had killed Bill with Simon’s own gun (it must have fallen into the street when Simon lunged at Bill). She also said that Zoe and Brian had been administered neurotriptyline, and they had quickly gone back to their rational, conscious states. But before the treatment center officials could come to apprehend them, they had both disappeared. Amy didn’t say explicitly that she had looked the other way while they escaped, but it was something she _would_ do. Simon was relieved; at least two people wouldn’t suffer more because of him.

When Amy was done speaking, Lisa took over and told him her side of the story. After they had split up, she went to the cemetery and tracked the other two rabids. It took her a good fifteen minutes to wrangle them both, but she managed to get the situation under control. With Dean’s help - he hadn’t taken much convincing; all he really needed was someone to bark orders at him - Lisa brought them to Shirley Wilson, who gave them both a dose of neurotriptyline. She didn’t ask many questions. The fact that two members of the HVF had brought rabids to her doorstep must have said enough.

After Lisa dispatched Dean, she cut the PDS sufferers loose and went straight to the parish building. Everything had been over by then. She had helped patch him up temporarily, and then she and Amy had called Jem, who drove over with Kieren, and all of them had piled into the Walker’s family car and gone to the clinic. 

And now they were here, in the waiting room, practically holding Simon’s hand because he must have looked so miserable. He didn’t want their sympathy or their pity, but he knew it was born out of kindness. He let them try to comfort him.

“You did everything you could,” Amy said gently. “You must know that. Kieren knows it too. He’s just angry and hurt right now.” 

“The way he was looking at you while you were still knocked out, mate - he loves you. He didn’t even hesitate when Dr Russo said you needed a transfusion,” Lisa said. 

She looked more earnest and younger than she ever had, and Simon was abruptly grateful for her - for both of them - and what they’d done for him. Though he was sure they were wrong about Kieren. Whatever he had felt for Simon was nothing compared to how he had felt for Rick. Simon had known, all along, that he didn’t hold a candle to him. How could he? Kieren had known Rick his whole life. And regardless of that, Simon knew his own worth. Kieren must have too. 

“Thank you,” Simon said roughly. “For everything. I wouldn’t be here without you two.” 

“It was nothing,” Lisa said. “Besides, I have a lot to make up for. Figure this is as good a start as any.” 

“Bill was manipulating you, Lisa. You’re not a bad person. You were just misguided,” Simon said. It felt very important to make her understand this suddenly. Roarton could stand to have one less person hating themselves.

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Don’t patronize me, Simon. I know what I’ve done. Anyway, I already sat through the ‘it’s not your fault’ speech from Jem while you were getting your stitches.” 

“Jem?” Simon’s stomach lurched. “Where is she now?”

“Went home to explain things to her parents,” Lisa said. “She tried talking to Kieren, but he wouldn’t let her in the room with Rick.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s terrified,” Lisa said honestly. “She’s scared for Kieren and she doesn’t know what comes next.”

“Promise me you’ll be there for her,” Simon said.

“Of course,” Lisa said slowly. “We haven’t really talked in months, but we used to be pretty close in school before... everything. I’m going to be there as much Jem’ll let me.”

Simon nodded and turned to Amy, who was still squeezing his right hand tightly. “And promise you’ll be there for Kieren.”

Amy swatted him with her free hand, eyebrows drawing to a point. “And where are you going, dumb-dumb?” 

“Kieren doesn’t want me here,” Simon said. 

Amy levelled him with a solemn look and replied, “That may be true at the moment, but he still needs you. Now more than ever.”

Simon nodded and refrained from telling her that she was wrong. It wouldn’t matter soon anyway.

-

Maxine Martin was _furious_. She had known that people in Roarton were slow, perhaps even insolent, but Bill Macy had almost ruined everything. To her luck, he had only managed to kill one of the undead. She had already determined that Rick Macy wasn’t the First Risen - he hadn’t even Risen in Roarton - so his death meant nothing to her, but it grated on her nerves regardless. 

The government would be up her arse in no time, and now she had even more paperwork to fill out. On top of everything, she hadn’t exactly narrowed down who the First Risen might be. But she was getting closer. 

-

It took less than a day for news of what had happened in Roarton to reach Julian, who was informed by Zoe Taylor, his newest recruit. She was a reliable source, having been caught in the fray herself. Julian broke the story to the ULA in simple terms: “There were losses on both sides,” he said. “But know this: the attack in Roarton was an attack on all of the undead. We know now that they’ll stop at nothing to eradicate us. First Frankie, now Rick Macy. Who’s next? They’ve even begun to use Blue Oblivion against us. Make no mistake; this is a call to arms.” 

“But what about the Second Rising?” Alana asked. She was his favorite disciple. Her eyes were hard and fierce but loyal. Julian was proud; he’d taught her well.

“ _This_ will be our Second Rising. It will be our rebirth and our retribution.” 

He looked around at his disciples. All of them were stricken silent with awe. 

Victor, of course, didn’t agree with him. _Wait_ , he said after Julian had told him about the blood spilled in Roarton. He was always telling Julian to wait for one reason or another. First they didn’t have enough information, then they didn’t have the numbers, it wasn’t safe enough, things were too volatile... but Julian knew his people better than Victor could ever hope to. No amount of studying necrotic flesh under a microscope could change that.

Three days after the incident in Roarton, Julian had an idea. He shared it with his disciples, and they accepted it as he had known they would. They began to plan.

-

Jem was busy one day not long after the incident, and Lisa was feeling restless while her parents were at work but she had nowhere and no one to occupy herself with. Sad as it was, Jem had become her only friend. There was only one other person beside her parents who might give her the time of day.

Amy answered the door when Lisa knocked. She took one look at Lisa and ducked back into the bungalow to call for Simon. He was at the door in seconds, fixing his cuffs and slicking back his hair, looking harried. When he saw it was Lisa at the door, something in his poster shifted, became less tense but more guarded. 

“Hello,” Lisa said. “Er, sorry to pop in announced, but I thought... well, I thought we could talk about everything that’s happened.” 

“Right,” Simon said. “Come in.” 

They sat on opposite sides of the couch. Simon watched her like she was liable to explode at any second. That was fair, she supposed. She hadn’t been much other than volatile in his presence. Then again, he hadn’t really known in her in any other context than the HVF. 

“I came to say thank you for helping me deal with Bill,” Lisa blurted eventually. “And also to apologise.” 

She picked viciously at her cuticles as she watched Simon’s expression. His face gave nothing away. Simon folded his hands, sat back further in his seat and said, “Why? You’ve only done what you were told.” 

“Yes, and people got hurt because of it.” She swallowed. “And Rick Macy died. Again.” 

“Yes,” Simon agreed. “But it’s not me who needs an apology for that.” 

“Jem already told me Kieren won’t take any visitors.” 

Simon’s stoicism finally cracked. His brow wrinkled. “I know,” he said wearily. “I’ve tried as well.” 

“Do you think there’s anything..?”

“That will redeem you?” Simon guessed. “I don’t know. I’ve been wondering the same about myself for a long time now. But you’re still young Lisa, you need to-- to learn how to forgive yourself, or this will consume you.” 

Lisa nodded, taking Simon’s words to heart. Something in his eyes told her that he was more serious about this than he’d ever been about anything. And she really did respect him. Simon was a man of principle; when he gave advice, she felt compelled to listen.

“I think I understand now,” Lisa said finally, “about the-- the undead. I didn’t quite get it before; all I knew was that they were attacking us and they had to die so we could live. I suppose after the Rising I never switched off survival mode. But they’re not monsters anymore than we are, are they? They were just trying to survive too.” 

Simon’s expression softened. “That’s right.” 

“I feel daft for not seeing that earlier. I could have saved everyone a lot of trouble if--”

“No sense dwelling on what-ifs,” Simon said. “That’ll only do you more harm.” 

“I know you’re right, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” Lisa looked down at her scuffed shoes. The absence of the colt on her thigh or in her waistband was palpable. She felt unmoored without it. Maybe it was the feeling of groundlessness that made her say what she said next. “You know, I always thought I was some independent badass who couldn’t be controlled by anyone. Turns out I’m the exact opposite. I let myself be Bill’s puppet.” 

“But you can be more than that now. You’re smart,” Simon said. “I knew that right from when I first met you. You could go back to school, do whatever you wanted to. Make a life.” 

“God,” said Lisa. “I don’t remember you being such a dad. What happened to you?” 

Simon’s mouth quirked. He looked away for a moment, shifty. Lisa noticed.

“It’s Kieren, isn’t it? Christ, you’re ready to settle down and play house with him, aren’t you?” 

“That’s not what he wants.” Simon’s expression shifted carefully back into neutral. “That’s not what he _needs_ ,” he amended. 

“How do you know what he needs?” 

“I know I’m not it,” Simon said shortly. 

Lisa raised her hands in surrender, signalling that she was going to drop the topic. She got the sense that Kieren was something Simon would not budge on. 

“Well, anyway, I _was_ actually already thinking of going back to college, so don’t go around thinking it’s your idea if I enroll in classes soon.” 

“I promise not to take the credit,” Simon said, some of the humor returning to his eyes. “Just as long as you don’t call me a dad anymore.” 

Lisa rolled her eyes. “Deal.” 

-

“Silas, I need your funding to see the rest of this project through. You’ve known that since the beginning. Why are you withdrawing now?” 

“It’s become too messy, Victor. You’re leaving a trail of bodies.” 

“Those bodies are the fault of my... associate. There won’t be any more of that, I can assure you.” 

“You can’t control the people who work for you, then. That’s just as dangerous.” 

Barely-contained rage simmered beneath Victor’s skin, but he had a lot of practise at keeping his body under control. Through clenched teeth he said, “Give me one more month, and I’ll have something to show for all of this.” 

There was a short silence. “You’re testing my patience. What will you have?” 

“Something miraculous,” Victor said.

-

Some mornings Kieren woke up and thought he was right back where he started. The first few days after Rick’s second death felt no different than the days after his first. His parents treated him glass and Jem tried to talk to him but grudgingly gave him a wide berth when he ignored her. He was alone, though he knew he had several people who would have been there for him if we would let them.

Amy, for one, hadn’t stopped calling him. For three days she showed up at the Walker house in the morning only to be turned down apologetically at the door by Sue or Steve or Jem. Simon didn’t try to come, but Kieren knew he would be there in an instant if Kieren called him. So he didn’t call him. He wasn’t ready to see Simon yet. 

A large part of Kieren was ashamed for putting the blame on Simon; he knew, of course, that Simon had had good intentions. If he could have stopped Bill, he would have. But the fact that he _hadn’t_ still stung, inexplicably. Kieren had wanted at first to pin the fault down on fate rather than Simon, but he didn’t believe in fate. 

Random shit just happened, and could happen at any time, and the world was indifferent. That was the way he saw the universe. That was the way he _had_ to see it. If not, how could he accept that he lived in a world where his best friend was fated to be taken from him twice? How could he accept that both times his death would be meaningless, and that Rick would never get a chance to live his life fully, the way he wanted to?

It wasn’t fair. 

Even though Kieren had warned Rick about Bill, even though he had sent Simon out to warn him as well, things had still ended up the same. Everything Kieren had done thus far was inconsequential. 

Kieren waded through each day feeling half-alive. Sometimes in his dreams he was rotting, other times he was a firefly trapped in a jar. No matter how far he flew or how brilliantly he glowed, he eventually hit a glass wall and was knocked down to the bottom of the jar again. 

After he had wallowed for almost a month, Jem knocked on the door and didn’t wait for a response before coming in. She sat down on the bed without being invited and curled her knees under her chin. 

“Kier,” she began, “we’ve all been trying to give you space.” Kieren said nothing. She sighed and continued, “But it’s not healthy, keeping yourself locked up in here all day.” 

Kieren turned over in bed and dragged a pillow over to cover his face. 

“You always do this,” Jem said, “withdraw into yourself when something terrible happens. It’s not good for you, but... but it’s not good for us, either. We’re all worried about you. We would do anything to help you, if you’d just-- if you’d just tell us what you need.” 

Kieren could feel Jem’s eyes burning into his back, but he remained still and let her keep talking. 

“Fine,” she eventually said. “I’ll talk, you listen. Today I went out with Lisa. I could tell she was trying to cheer me up, but I kept thinking about you holed up in this dark room, and I couldn’t enjoy myself at all. But Lisa understood; I think she knows how scared I am. She asked if I wanted to talk about it, but I--” Jem’s voice cracked, “-- I couldn’t. Not after last time. All I can think about is how pale you looked in that hospital bed after-- after... Anyway, Lisa told me she’s been talking to Simon and Amy a lot, lately. They convinced her to tell her parents she wanted to see a counselor, and Lisa has a psychologist now. I think I’d like to see someone, too. And I think you should consider it as well.” 

Jem took a breath. “Lisa also told me about Simon. She said he’s planning to leave. He contacted this publishing company over in Manchester and they said they’d hire him if he has a good interview. Apparently he’s done some freelance work in the past and they were impressed by it. Did you know that?” 

Gently, Jem lay a hand on Kieren’s knee. “It’s up to you, but I think you should call him. Lisa didn’t say it outright because she respects him too much, but Simon is... having a hard time. At the very least, he doesn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you.” 

Kieren drew the pillow away from his eyes in increments, squinting against the dim light of his bedside lamp until Jem’s solemn face came into focus. She smiled weakly at him. “Good to finally see your face again, dickhead.” 

Kieren tried to smile back at her, but instead his face shattered. That was exactly what he had been afraid of. But Jem just looked at him for a moment before her own eyes filled with tears. Her hand on his knee tightened. Slowly, he reached out to cover it with his own.

-

_“The first risen must be martyred, on the 12th hour of the 12th day. Only then can the second resurrection begin. ‘For when the chosen one falls, the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall rise again incorruptible: and we shall all be changed.’”_

Julian pressed pause and sat in the eerie blue glow of his computer screen. It was his best video yet. He had watched it enough times now that he could match the pacing of his words exactly. The rush of power he felt while saying them was just as strong as it was the first time, no matter how many times they were repeated. 

The other videos were good; they attracted followers, they brought together like minds - but this was something else. The speech that he had wrote, it was inciteful. It would do more than bring people together. It would make them want to fight. Most importantly, he had done it on his own. Victor hadn’t needed to know about it at all. It was proof that Julian could be independent. Victor was only holding him back. 

-

Jem was right, Kieren realised. He retreated into himself when he didn’t know how to emotionally cope with a situation. Though he knew it was harmful in the long-run, it had seemed like an okay defense mechanism for the past few years, until Kieren had heard Jem say _it’s not good for us, either_. The knowledge that Kieren had been hurting his family - and that included Amy and Simon - was what made him finally get out of bed. 

The room was dark and littered with detritus from weeks ago that Kieren had never bothered to clean up. It seemed like his life had been once again separated into two periods: Before Rick and After Rick. 

Kieren tore down the blackout curtains from the windows in his room. The sunlight caught dust particles and illuminated the sorry state of the floor, which was piled high with discarded clothing, half-used paint tubes, and paintbrushes that were all frayed or splintered in some way. Kieren sighed and began to pick everything up, shoving some things in his closet and others under his bed. Then he did laundry for the first time in three weeks. 

Afterwards, he was almost entirely drained of energy and had to lock himself in his room to take a nap again. But when he woke up three hours later in time for dinner, he felt more refreshed than he had in a long, long time. 

He ate dinner downstairs with his family for the first time in weeks. Sue smiled warmly at him when he came down, almost as if they were just picking up from where they left off, but Steve looked nervous. Finally, half-way through a bowl of chicken noodle soup, Kieren set his spoon down and said, “Dad, I’m fine.”

“Are ye?” Steve mumbled, pushing potatoes around his plate like a sullen child. 

“Well, I’m trying to be,” Kieren amended. “I, er, tidied my room today.” 

“That’s nice, love,” Sue said. 

Steve nodded in agreement. Jem took a second helping of soup and said, “I looked into this counseling place just outside town. I’m planning on taking the train there tomorrow. You’re welcome to come, Kier.” 

“Okay,” Kieren said slowly. “Yeah. I’d... I’d like that.” 

Sue covered her grin with a mouthful of food and Steve finally resumed eating his meal, looking looser and lighter somehow than he had just seconds ago. Kieren felt like the weight on his chest had lifted just a little bit. 

-

It made sense to go somewhere he had never been before. There was nothing left for Simon in Roarton, and he couldn’t go back home, not anymore. Not after last time. He told only Amy and Lisa about his departure, but he knew that they would get the word around whether he wanted them to or not. 

Packing was easy. He had only a few jumpers, a spare pair of trousers, a bundle of underclothes and toiletries, two pairs of shoes, and a modest stack of books and journals. It all fit into one medium-sized duffel. He was set to leave in a few days, but he had already gotten all of his belongings together. There was no reason not to. Throughout the day he very rarely had use for anything beyond his journal, which he scribbled in every day.

Simon was trying to get back into writing - he’d have to, if he expected the job in Manchester to pan out. They wanted to publish some of his old poetry, but he was hoping to write something new so that they wouldn’t have to. His old poetry was raw, unfinished, and as chaotic as the life he’d lived in his late teens and early 20s. In many ways, it reflected the person he had been, and he didn’t like that person at all. He especially didn’t think that person deserved to be immortalized in a poetry anthology or a literary journal. 

But the person he was now was worse in some ways; he was barren, bereft, untethered. There was no longer a deep, inner part of him that he felt he had needed to express when he was 20, no secret kept or words left unsaid. There was nothing, and so his poetry was dull and reflective of that nothingness, and though he sat and wrote for hours some days, the most he accomplished was trite, rambling nonsense, or wandering prose about freckles and golden eyelashes.

Simon knew distantly that part of the reason he was so uninspired was that he had no interest in moving to Manchester. Though he often hated Roarton, there was an undeniable piece of him that had become rooted in the town’s infrastructure over the years. This town, with its small shops and its even smaller-minded people, had remade him. In some way, he had even come to love Roarton’s patchy green fields and its watery grey horizon. There was something clean and pure about it; it was here, after all, that he had been saved. Leaving felt like a betrayal of that. 

But being so close to the Walkers and not being able to talk to them or see them regularly hurt, and he didn’t want to live in a place where grief and guilt followed him around like twin shadows. Ultimately, Simon was a man who needed a reason for everything, and right now, he had more reasons to leave than to stay. 

And so he would leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? no long wait this time. Still have another two chapters written. Will post imminently. Thank you for reading, as always. <3
> 
> P.S. Oh, yeah, sorry for crushing the percentage of you that care about Rick. I promise things will get better. :-)


	31. The Way We Come to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "In Dreams" by Ben Howard. Excellent song, and also the inspiration for this chapter.

When Julian had been alive, he liked to play chess with his father. Though he was never particularly good at it, no matter how much he practiced, he never gave up on the game. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t skilled - it mattered that he played even knowing he would lose. This plan of his was a little bit like chess: making sure all of the pieces were in place, biding his time, protecting the most important pieces. Playing the long-game. That was something that Julian _was_ good at. 

Like in chess, he knew where this impending uprising was headed. He wasn’t deluded enough to think that there was an outcome that didn’t end in most of the ULA permanently dead or apprehended. It was inevitable; to go down in history, to become legends, to show people how serious they were about their cause, there needed to be a sacrifice. And Julian was prepared to make it. That was something Victor had never understood. 

The thing about chess was that there would always be another game no matter how many times you lost. You just had to end the first one before you could start the next. 

-

These days his dreams his dreams were about Rick’s prone figure bleeding out on his front lawn, or Rick’s hand, bony and cold, reaching out and touching him in a dark room. Sometimes it was just the hand, with nothing attached to it, but Kieren always knew it was him. 

Despite their severity, the nightmares were no longer as frequent. Kieren couldn’t tell if that was because his psychologist was helping him work through them or because they were actually tapering off on their own. He wondered if it mattered. The nightmares had become such a part of his life that Kieren had resigned himself to living with them forever. They were becoming less of an impediment to his functioning. It sometimes took a while for Jem to pull him back out of his own head, but he always managed it in the end.

Kieren itched to have Simon there with him, too. But he couldn’t ask him to do that, not after how he’d treated him at the clinic. All of the initial pain of Rick’s loss had been replaced by a deeply overwhelming sense of guilt at how he had left things with Simon.

Some days the Simon-shaped hole in his life felt like it would consume him. Sometimes his nightmares weren’t about Rick at all, but about Simon leaving him, Simon telling him how he hated him, Simon saying that he never wanted to see him again. The thought of that possibility was unbearable on top of everything else. Kieren avoided him in the hopes that he would never have to face it. 

-

Kieren broke at the end of November. Jem had been pestering him about it for long enough, and after a particularly excruciating session with his new psychologist in which he’d tried to explain the whole mess of the past few months to her, Kieren made up his mind: he would finally call Simon. Half of him almost hoped he had left already; the dread of having to explain himself, of having to apologise for abandoning Simon, was overwhelming.

Simon picked up on the second ring. He didn’t say anything right away. Kieren counted ten whole seconds before he said, “Kieren?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is everything all right? Do you need something?”

“No,” Kieren said. That was Simon: even after weeks of no contact he was worried about Kieren, wanted to know how much more of himself he could give up in service to him. 

“Oh. Then...”

“I was wondering,” Kieren swallowed, but the words stuck to his tongue stubbornly, “if you’ve... Have you left yet?” 

“I’m still here,” Simon said, “at the bungalow. I went for an interview in Manchester a while back and they said they’d phone with their decision in a fortnight. I hear back from them in two days.” 

“Can we have tea before that?” 

There was a silence just long enough for Kieren’s heart rate to spike dramatically. Then, “Of course.” 

Kieren could breathe again. “Can you come over around three tomorrow? My parents won’t be back before ten, and Jem is out with Lisa all day.” 

“I’ll be there,” Simon said. It might have been Kieren’s imagination, but his voice sounded fainter than usual, almost breathless. 

Kieren said a quick goodbye and hung up. It took several minutes until his heart slowed to a steady rhythm again.  
-

For the first time in years, Amy looked into the mirror over her vanity and watched her pupils dilate. She flexed her fingers and felt her tendons stretch over her bones. She held her breath until her lungs clutched with the need for air. She felt her the gnawing pangs of hunger twist in her gut. The only thing left was her heart - a tricky thing, slower to warm up than the rest of her. 

But she could almost feel it now: that spark of life that had eluded her for so long.

-

The sofa cushion was becoming frayed with how much Kieren had been picking at it, and their tea, untouched on the table, had gone cold a while ago. Neither of them had looked each other in the eye since Simon had showed up at the door. They had taken a moment to glance at each other then, and it was a mistake. Kieren almost closed the door right in his face. It was-- too much. Looking at Simon after not seeing him for weeks was like a punch to the gut. They had been officially together for a very brief stretch of time, but seeing him brought back all of the months they’d spent in close proximity, sharing not just the bed and the sofa, but their thoughts, their nightmares, their likes and dislikes. Kieren had even shown him his art. He’d willingly bared more of his soul to Simon than he had to possibly any other person on Earth. 

They had been through enough together that Kieren thought to skip any formalities regarding small talk.

“I shouldn’t have made you leave that day at the clinic,” Kieren started. “You were just trying to help, and I shut you out. Worse, I blamed you for something you couldn’t have controlled. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. You needed space.”

“No, I should apologise. I hurt you, and I feel like I keep doing that. That’s not okay.” 

“I hurt you first,” Simon said, voice strained. 

“No, I _got_ hurt,” Kieren insisted. “There’s a difference. It was nothing you did. I just needed someone to take my anger out on because the person who’s really at fault is already dead.”

“I understand. You’re grieving.” 

“Do you--” Kieren swallowed, “do you hate me?” 

What he had really meant was ‘ _do you still love me?_ ’ but the words were impossible to get out without burning his tongue. 

“ _What_?” Simon looked legitimately affronted. “Of course not, Kieren. How could you think that?” 

Kieren chewed on his lower lip and shrugged. It was a boyish gesture, but he didn’t have much else to fall back on. Sometimes Simon made him feel as though he’d regressed ten years emotionally, like he could cry or throw a tantrum at the slightest misstep. “I don’t know. Nevermind.”

“I could never hate you. Especially not over something like this.” 

“Okay.” He tried not to let the plain relief show on his face, but it was a struggle. “But where does that leave us?” Kieren asked quietly. 

“What do you want?” Simon asked.

“That doesn’t matter. You have options - a job waiting for you, even. It’s your call.” 

“Of course it matters, Kieren.” 

“Okay. Then I do want you. But not if that’s not what _you_ want.”

Simon wet his lips. “You’d still have me?” 

“You really don’t know?” Kieren asked. Simon shifted uncomfortably. Kieren took a moment to really look at him again, all pretenses dropped. When he saw that Simon was dead serious, his mouth fell open. “Simon, I always _want_ to be with you. I know I haven’t done a very good job of showing it, but when you’re not here, it’s like... everything is too loud. You make it easier, remember?” 

“You say that now, but...” Simon ‘s eyes were shiny. He blinked several times and couldn’t meet Kieren’s eye. “But there’s still time for things to go wrong. What if I do hurt you?”

“I’m already damaged goods. You don’t have to worry about breaking me,” Kieren said wryly. 

Simon looked incredulous. “You’re incredibly resilient, Kieren. I’m not worried about that.” 

Kieren swallowed. After weeks of being treated like a fragile doll by his family, the idea that someone thought he was strong was nothing short of a miracle. “What, then? What are you worried about?”

“It’s selfish,” Simon muttered, “but I’m terrified of losing you permanently. The last few weeks without you have been...” Simon closed his eyes and took a breath. “I’ve missed you.” 

“How is not being with me going to make you miss me less?” Kieren asked dubiously.

“If we spend time apart, but we remain friends, there’s less risk. We can still keep in contact.” 

“Risk of _what_?” Kieren demanded, suddenly frustrated.

“Of hurting you. Of fucking up our relationship like I’ve fucked up every other meaningful thing in my life so far. If we’re never together, I can’t lose you.” Simon looked down at his restless fingers and added more quietly, “Two weeks was enough. I don’t want to have to miss you forever.”

“That’s,” Kieren spluttered, searching for the right words. “That’s ridiculous. When you love someone, fucking up sometimes is inevitable. I would know. Do you realise how much I’ve hurt my family? I think they’re still expecting to wake up one morning and find that I’ve drowned myself in the tub. But they haven’t gone running for the hills because they’re afraid of losing me. They’re still here. They love me in spite of knowing they could lose me. It’s a risk, but so is everything else.”

“Well, I’ve always been cowardly.” Simon said lightly, eyes downcast. 

“That’s not true. You’re one of the bravest people I know.” Kieren was incensed now. Simon’s own self-deprecation was making him realise how stupid he’d been the past few weeks. He had just made this whole mess worse by giving Simon a reason to think he wasn’t worth it. 

“I spent half of my life shooting up in alleyways because I was afraid to be sober,” Simon said quietly. 

“And then you came here, saved my life, got clean, and joined a patrol group to protect a town full of people you barely knew. That’s who I know you as, Simon. Where’s the cowardice in any of that?”

“I was afraid of living. I still am. How is that brave?”

“You’re speaking to the person who tried to kill himself,” Kieren reminded him quietly. 

There was a long silence. Kieren could see that Simon knew he had misspoken. He dropped his head, penitent, and spoke his next words to the floor. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “Remember when I left to go to my parents’ house after we kissed for the first time?”

“Yeah,” Kieren snorted. “I just let you leave. Hardly even put up a fight.”

“I was scared then, too. Maybe even more so than now. I thought for sure I would ruin you. And us. But I think I also wanted you to ask me to stay.” 

“I should have,” Kieren said, “but I was a little scared, too. I’m asking you now, though.”

“I know.” Simon lifted his head and searched his eyes like he was looking hard for something. He might have found it, because his smile was watery when he said, “I want to stay this time.”

“I know,” Kieren echoed. “I want you to. Will you?”

In answer, Simon put his hands on either side of Kieren’s face and drew him near, close, closer, until their mouths were touching. Simon warm and being close to him made Kieren feel safe in a way that he hadn’t in a long time. They stayed pressed against each other for a beat longer than necessary. Simon drew away just enough to speak and said, “Of course.” 

-

It was December, and Janet Macy had been alone for two months. She couldn't say what exactly had kept her in Roarton all of this time. She could have left after Bill died, and after Rick-- Well, she could have left is all. Should have, even. 

There was nothing left for her in Roarton. She had a few acquaintances, but they were mostly superficial. The only woman she had ever felt any sort of genuine kinship with was Sue Walker, but Bill had prevented her from having a real connection with anyone for as long as they’d been together. So, there was no one. She was alone.

Part of her was relieved that he was gone. But who was she without him? She hadn’t thought of herself as an independent and fully individual person for years. But now she was Janet - just Janet, not Mrs. Macy, not Bill’s wife, not Rick’s mother - and she didn’t quite know what to do with that. 

The trees were losing their leaves when Janet came across a travel brochure in the Save ‘n’ Shop. It was just a little thing, all faded colors and folded edges, and normally she would have walked right past it. But that day she had a mostly empty shopping trolley and an even emptier house, and the brochure was right there on the rack by the exit sign, and it had never been clearer to her in that moment that she had absolutely no one to answer to anymore. She took the brochure home with her. 

That night as she packed she gathered all of Bill’s things together in a few trash bags and threw them out. The last thing she put in her bag was the family photo album. Rick’s young, smiling face shone up at her from every page. It was too much to look at right now, but she knew - she _hoped_ \- that one day she could look at those photos and smile at what she’d had rather than mourn what she had lost. 

-

Zoe Taylor, despite her brashness and a chronic inability to keep her mouth shut, knew how to blend in when she had to. She refused to wear contacts or cover-up - that was a step too far - but Julian had asked her to scope out Roarton, and so she resolved to become invisible. As a loyal disciple, she had a duty to fulfill. 

It wasn’t hard to do; the townspeople were as wary as they were oblivious. She spent most days at the Legion, where the locals gossiped loudly and incessantly. In two days she had enough dirt on Maxine Martin to write an autobiography. 

Martin, apparently, had been interrogating the undead for weeks now, trying to find out obscure details such as their death dates and times of rising. Zoe would have known this had she attended any of the Give Back scheme meetings herself, but she had stopped going after the first one. She wasn’t going to let some stuck-up woman from the city boss her around and force her into physical labor on the fence with the others. Besides, she looked terrible in that shapeless orange smock. 

Luckily, the death of one of Julian’s other disciples - some poor sod who had been shot in the cemetery a while back - had cleared up a spot for her amongst their ranks. And thus, she had become a fully-fledged member of the ULA, a full-time resident at the Undead Commune, and been bestowed the title of Fifth Disciple. 

On her third day at the Legion she learned that Maxine was staying at the B&B off main street, so she made a point to stop by at least twice a day every day. She loitered around in the backyard for the most part, taking cover in bushes or under the shade of the big trees. It was almost unbearable; Sandra was an insufferable woman whose shrill voice Zoe could hear from all the way inside the B&B behind closed doors. 

Perhaps that was why she had risked her cover just to give Sandra a scare. Finding the rabid in the woods had been a stroke of luck. It hadn’t taken much to guide him to the backyard of the B&B on the night that Sandra was watching her precious crime show. Zoe just wanted to ruin her night, but instead she had ended up getting the rabid killed and giving Maxine even more moral high-ground. It was a slip-up that Julian could never know about. But it had an unexpected benefit. 

The next day, Sandra Furness’ neuroticism paid off. Maxine’s room was on the second floor, and it had big windows that were often left open to let air into the stuffy room. Zoe always strained to hear what was going on inside, but Maxine was relatively quiet. That changed when Sandra knocked on Maxine’s door midday. Their conversation was faint at first, but it wasn’t long before their voices were raised. Sandra was going on and on about the horror she had faced when the rabid attacked her the other night, and Maxine was trying to placate her in a voice that dripped with condescension. 

“Sandra, Sandra, breathe,” she said. “Can you tell me what you saw that night?” 

And Sandra did, haltingly, recount her entire experience the night of the rising. Zoe stood in the backyard open-mouthed, in awe of her own luck. 

“And who did you see first, Sandra? Who rose first?” Maxine asked in the tone of someone who was hanging onto patience by their fingernails.

“I saw...” There was a pause. “I saw a rotter with long brown hair rise first. A girl. She had a floral dress on, very eccentric looking. I knew her grandmother--” 

“Amy Dyer,” Maxine interrupted. “Is that who you saw?” 

Zoe held her breath. She knew Amy. She didn’t like her, exactly, but she respected her. Amy had helped restrain her when that poor excuse for a human, Bill Macy, had forced Blue Oblivion on her. And she had looked the other way when Zoe had left the clinic after being treated. There was a courageous quality about her that Zoe liked. Amy was the type of person who refused to be anything less than what she was. 

Maxine said, “Take a look at this photo. Is this who you saw that night?”

Another pause. 

“Yes,” replied Sandra finally, more sure now. “Yes, she was the first.” 

-

They eased back into things slowly. Kieren thought he still had a lot to make up for, and Simon was still hesitant around him, as if at any moment Kieren might decide that Simon wasn’t what he wanted and tell him to leave again. Kieren couldn’t think of a way to ensure him that that was _not_ going to happen. 

Having Simon around the house again made it easier to get up in the morning. Kieren knew that probably wasn’t healthy - his psychologist had told him more than once that he had to learn to live for himself - but it was hard to find something else to look forward to, other than seeing Simon every morning. His best friend was dead, Jem was with Lisa most days, and his parents were busy with work more often than not. Roarton itself was as dim and lonely as ever. Simon was Kieren’s only reprieve. But it was more than that. 

They went on walks together, traversing the countryside, sometimes picking flowers, sometimes befriending strange birds or rodents they saw. On rainier days, Kieren painted Simon - small, colorless portraits, but better than nothing at all. They spoke a lot about the past. Simon listened to him, and when Kieren was too tired or upset to talk, Simon told him stories about his own life. They stayed up late on the phone or in person, curled into bed together, talking about their childhoods and their family, and what they had wanted to do with their lives before the Rising happened. Kieren told Simon about getting into art school, about how elated he’d been. On good days, he talked about Rick - the mischief they had gotten into together, what school had been like for the both of them, what they had both been like when they were younger. 

One night, Kieren was telling a story about how some wanker named George had called him slurs in Year Nine. It was the first time he had been able to recall the memory without feeling like there was a fist wrapped around his sternum. 

Kieren said, “I thought I was really cool in Year Nine.Wore black trousers with chains, combat boots, eyeliner, the whole thing.” He looked down, laughing a little at himself, but Simon nudged him to continue. “I got called a lot of things back then. Jem was the only one who really stood up for me, but no one was afraid of some ten-year-old wagging her fist angrily at them.” 

“I can picture that very clearly,” Simon said, eyes alight with mirth. His smile dimmed after a few seconds. He cleared his throat and asked gently, “Did you know Rick at the time?” 

“Yeah.” Kieren swallowed. “George was one of his mates. I never told Rick that he was bothering me. I didn’t want to put him in that position.” Kieren’s mouth pulled down at one corner. He swallowed and added, “But Rick found out anyway. He saw George pushing me around after school one day.”

“What happened?”

“He distracted George. I left. We didn’t talk about it the next day.” 

Simon nodded. “Did George still bother you after that?” 

“Sometimes.” Kieren shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“Kieren--”

“No, I’m serious.” Kieren looked at him. “I was okay. Rick was just scared. I don’t fault him for not stepping in. I got over it a long time ago.” 

It was late, and lighting in the room was dim, but he could make out the shadow between Simon’s brow where a little worried furrow had formed. Kieren reached out to smooth it away with his thumb, but Simon caught his wrist and rubbed his own thumb against the thick scar tissue there. Kieren sighed and let him, though with anyone else he would have flinched away reflexively. 

“It’s okay to be upset for _yourself_ , you know,” Simon said quietly.

“Simon...” Kieren dropped his head, sighing. Simon’s fingers uncurled from his wrist, but he kept a thumb there, against Kieren’s pulse point, brushing up and down against the thin skin. “We’re not really talking about George anymore, are we?” 

“Maybe not,” Simon said. “I know you think you need to be strong about everything. I know... I know I’ve certainly felt that way in the past about myself. But you don’t need to with me. I’m not going to run away.” 

“You said I was resilient before,” Kieren said. “Did you mean that?” 

“Yes,” Simon said, “And I’ll never stop believing that. But you don’t have to be strong just because you think you have to be in front of your parents or Jem. I’ll do my best to help you shoulder what burdens you.” 

Simon’s voice was quiet but sincere, and the crease between his brows in conjunction with the soft set of his mouth made him look unbearably earnest. Kieren squeezed his eyes shut against a sudden rush of tears. He didn’t know how to deal with something like this. Though Kieren had loved him, he had never been this vulnerable with Rick. He was struck, all at once, with how lucky he was to have Simon in his life. 

Kieren cupped Simon’s face in both palms and drew their mouths together slowly. When they pulled away, Kieren said, “I’m scared.” 

Another kiss. Into his mouth, Simon breathed, “Of what?” 

Kieren closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Simon’s. He opened his mouth to make some excuse or change the subject, but instead it all came tumbling out at once: “I’m scared that I’ll lose myself again. I’m afraid of being miserable. I can’t-- I couldn’t handle it if something happened to someone else I love. The first time after Rick, I... I lost it. I’d never really been happy before that, you know?”

Simon nodded. He _did_ know.

Kieren drew in a shaky breath and continued, “But that was-- that was the final straw for me. I had no reason to keep pushing myself to get out of bed every morning. He was all I had.” Simon swiped his thumbs over Kieren’s cheeks and wiped away tears that he hadn’t even known had fallen. “And now I have you and Amy, too, but... but I still wake up every morning counting down the time until I lose you both. I don’t want to be alone again. So, I’m scared. I’m scared that if I try to hurt myself again no one will be there to stop me.”

“Hey,” Simon breathed. “I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere if I can help it.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Kieren’s mouth and swiped away the last tear caught on his long eyelashes. “You’re allowed to be scared.” 

“And you? Are you scared?”

“Always,” said Simon. 

“Of what?” Kieren echoed. 

“The same things, mostly. Of losing you, of losing myself, of...” Simon’s mouth twisted wryly. “Of shooting up again.” 

“How do you make it through the day?” Kieren asked. From anyone else, it might have been mocking, but Kieren’s eyes were wide and profoundly solemn. 

Simon laughed a little. “Well, I used to not be able to. Hence the heroin, and all.” 

Kieren half rolled his eyes and nudged his nose against Simon’s. “And now?” 

“To be honest... some days I really don’t know. For the most part, I’ve been trying to cling to the hope that things will get better, that there’s more for me to experience and feel and think before I’m done with the world.” Simon sighed deeply. “And maybe it’s foolish, but I’d like to think that one day we might be less afraid.” 

Kieren’s reply was a smile, small and heartbreaking in its rawness. He rested his head in the juncture between Simon’s neck and his shoulder and said, “I’d like to think so, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you guys. Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments. I will get back to them all soon. Next few chapters are on their way. You might like what's in store - no promises, though.


	32. The Twelfth of December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

Kieren woke up with searing heat pressed along his back and for a moment he was paralyzed with the thought that he had woken seized by another fleeting night terror. But his chest wasn’t tight, and his eyes didn’t feel heavy, and there was no sour taste of acid and fear on his tongue. Instead there was just this: Simon’s arm resting heavily across his middle, Simon’s solid chest crowded close against his spine, Simon’s nose tucked securely into the nook between his jaw and shoulder. Kieren didn’t want to move and jostle him, but the space between them had grown almost unbearably warm while they had slept, and Kieren was having trouble catching his breath.

Carefully, he twisted in place to face Simon. He was asleep, still, dark eyelashes dusting shadows over his cheekbones in the early light. The lines on his forehead and around his eyes looked softer, almost nonexistent. Kieren exhaled slowly, trying to match their breathing. He was so concentrated on the task that he missed the moment when Simon’s eyes cracked open. Simon let out a little amused puff of breath and smiled sleepily.

“How long ‘ave you been awake?” he slurred. 

“Not long,” Kieren replied. He combed his fingers through a swath of dark hair hanging across Simon’s forehead. It was getting longer, now, but Simon had resolved to cut it before Christmas in a fortnight. Kieren wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It was kind of fun to play with. 

“Think your parents are awake?” Simon asked. 

Kieren glanced at his alarm clock over his shoulder and shrugged. “It’s Tuesday. Mum and Dad are probably at work by now.” 

“And Jem?”

“Spent the night at Lisa’s.”

Simon hummed and pressed a kiss to Kieren’s cheek, chaste. “Should we get up?” 

Kieren knew what Simon was really asking, and at the same time he knew Simon was giving him an out if he wanted one. But for the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel like he needed one. Rick’s absence was still a gaping hole in his chest, and when Kieren thought about his death it was hard to breath still, but the wound was no longer as fresh. Rick’s first death had torn right through Kieren, leaving him feeling half-alive; appropriately, Kieren had tried to bleed himself dry to finish the job. But when he hadn’t died in that cave, the wound of Rick’s absence had scabbed over with time. Rick’s second death, however, was like ripping off the old scab and being stabbed again in the very same place. It hurt badly, but Kieren was used to the sting of it. He had the scar tissue to prove it. 

When Kieren hadn’t answered for a while, Simon made a move to sit up, but Kieren touched his bicep once, lightly, and Simon stilled.

“Stay,” Kieren said softly. 

Simon slipped back under the covers without a word. For a minute, Kieren froze, trapped inside a loop of old anxieties and second-guessings. Then he looked at Simon, who was looking at him openly with a neutral smile, and something in his chest quieted at the sight.

Mind made up, Kieren braced his forearms on either side of Simon’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss him. Simon returned it with equal force, neither taking nor giving - simply being. Kieren smiled against his lips and pulled back.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me, you know.”

“I know,” Simon said. He made eye contact and then looked away quickly shiftly. “But I... I don’t mind giving you the reins.” 

“Really?” Kieren mused. 

“Yes.” Simon swallowed, pupils blown wide. “I like it when you’re in charge.” 

A distant part of Kieren was surprised, but it didn’t take him long to get over it. Simon liked to care for him in every aspect of their lives, Kieren knew, so it wasn’t very far of a stretch to consider that sometimes he liked someone else to take responsibility. The more Kieren thought about it the more it made sense. Simon didn’t want to hurt him - of course he’d rather Kieren take the lead.

“Do you mind?” Simon asked, sounding almost self-conscious. 

Kieren realised he’d been quiet for a long time so he dipped down and nipped at Simon’s bottom lip in answer. At that, Simon made a sound that wasn’t quite a moan or a whimper but something pleasantly in between. Though Kieren hadn’t thought himself the type to take the lead in this sort of situation, and even though he didn’t quite feel entirely comfortable in his own skin, this was different. He hadn’t thought he could properly exercise any sort of control with anyone else, but Simon made him feel capable. Besides, Kieren liked seeing him pleased, and clearly something about this situation was making Simon happy, if the awestruck look on his face was any indication.

Kieren draped himself more fully across Simon’s chest, keeping his legs still innocently on his own side of the bed, and deepened their kiss. “Touch me,” he said quietly.

Simon immediately brought his arms up around Kieren’s slender ribcage to anchor him and ran his hands up and down Kieren’s sides slowly. Just that small touch made something warm coil lazily in Kieren’s gut. He pulled away to catch his breath and Simon pressed a soft, reassuring kiss on the slope of Kieren’ shoulder, where Simon’s oversized borrowed shirt had slipped down to reveal bare skin. 

“Good?” Simon asked tentatively.

“More than.” 

Simon’s fingers tightened a fraction as Kieren slung one of his legs over Simon’s. Now he was lying fully on top of him, knees on either side of Simon’s hips and hands splayed on the pillow next to his head. Kieren adjusted his positioning at the same time Simon shifted, and their hips came into sudden contact. The slow-spreading warmth of before became a scathing heat as something low in Kieren’s stomach tugged and contracted. 

He was mostly unsurprised to find that Simon was also hard. This was the man that had come almost entirely from watching Kieren get off. The thought sent another jolt of heat throughout Kieren’s body. He purposely slotted their hips together again and watched with relish as Simon shuddered beneath him. 

Simon’s fingers stumbled up his sides, under his shirt, seeking skin, and Kieren pulled away to strip off the offending article. He shivered a little at the sudden rush of cold air and at Simon’s eyes on him, heavy and half-lidded. Simon’s hands froze halfway to Kieren’s torso. 

Wordlessly, Kieren took Simon’s hands and settled them around his waist. They were huge and warm and almost as pale as his own skin. Kieren rolled their hips together and marvelled at the way Simon’s fingers flexed against him in reaction. It felt good to be held. Kieren could feel himself hardening rapidly inside his pajamas and didn’t try to repress the sensation; instead he nestled in close, closer, until there wasn’t any space between their bodies. 

Simon’s cock was hard against his lower stomach and Kieren rutted against it helplessly, dropping his forehead to rest against Simon’s shoulder. Simon’s hands travelled down to his hips to help the movement along. Kieren could feel his fingers trembling finely and his breath coming in short, clipped bursts. 

"You--" Simon stopped, swallowed. "You can take them off, if you want."

Kieren looked down hazily at where their pelvises were aligned. There was such a long pause that Simon started to look like he felt bad for suggesting it at all before Kieren swiftly slid down his body and made quick work of the drawstring. Simon slipped out of the pants and Kieren kicked them off the bed carelessly. He fixated on the paleness of Simon's thighs, the slight definition in his calves and quads, the way he was straining against the thin fabric of his briefs. 

“Can I--” Kieren choked on the rest of the sentence but it didn’t matter because Simon was already nodding eagerly and lifting his hips. Kieren tugged the briefs down in one go. It was the first time he had ever seen Simon completely bare, and the image of him laid out across Kieren’s bed was arresting. 

The plane of his stomach was flat, his chest was peppered with dark hair. He was toned but not bulky, with broad shoulders that tapered down into a slimmer torso. Kieren trailed a hand down his chest to the v of his hips, and Simon sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers teased the edges of his happy trail. 

“All right?” Kieren breathed. 

“All right,” Simon replied shakily.

Kieren’s fingers found his cock. He stroked down the length of it once, twice, three times, pulling an increasingly desperate sound from Simon each time. 

“Oh God,” Simon said. “Kieren, I-- I want....” 

Simon trailed off as Kieren thumbed the head of his cock, marvelling at the liquid gathering copiously at the slit. “Yeah?”

“We could...” Simon made a vague gesture, too lost for words. “If you want.”

Kieren caught on quickly. “I don’t have anything,” he said, distraught. He could have hit himself for being so stupid. Why didn’t he keep anything even remotely useful in his room? Stupid. _Stupid._

“Mhm,” Simon mumbled. “Next time. S’okay. Just touch me.”

Kieren did. Simon’s cock grew harder in his hand, and it gave little needy jerks every time Kieren touched it the right way. It was so mesmerizing that Kieren almost forgot his own arousal. Almost. Eventually he used his free hand to guide Simon’s hands from his hips to his lower stomach. Simon got the message quickly and began palming him through the flimsy cotton of his pajamas. 

“Take them off.” Kieren distantly thought that it sounded like he was begging, but he didn’t care; the feeling of Simon’s hands on him was too good, overwhelming. 

Simon began working the pajamas off with Kieren’s help, and soon they were both bare. Kieren settled back on Simon’s lap. Their cocks touched and Kieren immediately needed that sensation more, everywhere, all at once. 

Simon looked at him like a man who was seeing the sunset cresting over the ocean for the first time. “You’re beautiful,” he said reverently.

“Shut up,” Kieren mumbled. But his words held no weight; the way Simon was looking at him could have made him believe anything.

Simon took them both in hand and stroked their cocks together, and Kieren was brought to the edge embarrassingly quickly. His knees became jelly suddenly, and Simon switched their positions intuitively, putting Kieren on his back. Kieren immediately turned his face into the pillow to muffle the sounds that he couldn’t keep at bay any longer. With his abdomen contracting sporadically and his hair messily splayed across the bed, Kieren must have looked utterly debauched. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this - free, untethered, joyous. 

“You look--” Simon huffed a breath. “Jesus, Kieren.” 

He took his hand away abruptly and scooted down the bed. Kieren didn’t have time to mourn the loss before Simon’s lips were on his lower stomach. He pressed a trail of kisses from just below his bellybutton to the base of his cock. He paused there and looked up, light blue eyes shining.

“Go ahead,” Kieren said, swallowing thickly. 

Simon bent his head low and began kissing up the shaft of Kieren’s cock. He pressed a wet kiss at the tip and then took the head into his mouth eagerly, laving his tongue along the slit, cleaning up any excess precome. Kieren let out a ragged breath and flexed his fingers against the sheets. Without breaking his stride, Simon took his hand and guided it to the back of his head, encouraging Kieren’s fingers to sink into his hair. Kieren did so, and the response was immediate; Simon made a small, helpless sound around his cock and took him deeper. Curious, Kieren tugged lightly at his hair again, and the Simon made the same sound, only louder. 

“You like that?” Kieren said, caught off guard. 

Simon answered him by sinking down until his nose was nearly nestled in the ginger-blond curls at the base. Kieren’s cock must have been all the way at the back of his throat. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Simon was so _good_ at this. After all, he knew he wasn’t Simon’s first - probably not even his third or fourth or fifth - yet somehow he had expected more hesitation. But now that Simon had been given permission, now that he believed how much Kieren really wanted it, he was incredibly eager and willing to please.

Simon pulled back for a second to catch his breath, focusing his attention back on the head, where Kieren was especially sensitive. Kieren combed his fingers through Simon’s hair idly until he was ready to take him back inside. This time when he went down Simon hollowed out his cheeks along the way and Kieren’s entire body jerked in response, his fingers tightening unconsciously in Simon’s hair, which in turn made Simon suck harder, which subsequently made Kieren’s hand tug at his hair more. It was a positive feedback loop that quickly put Kieren on a speeding freight train towards his peak. 

Sensing how close he was, Simon braced his hands on either side of Kieren to hold him in place, thumbing his hipbones repeatedly. Then, abruptly, he went down one last time and swallowed as much as he could. That was what finally did it. Kieren came with a wrecked groan that he didn’t try to muffle in the bedsheets because he knew, distantly, that Simon got off on hearing him. 

Simon caught some of the mess he made in his mouth and wiped the rest of it on a dirty towel at the foot of the bed. Kieren was still breathing too harshly to be coherent, but it only took one glance to determine that Simon’s problem was still very much untaken care of. Kieren took a moment to let himself come down and then propped himself up on his elbows to be more eye-level with Simon, who was looking at him dazedly still. 

“I could return the favour,” Kieren offered breathlessly. 

“I won’t last long enough,” Simon said, though he looked very interested in the idea. “Next time. Can you just...” 

Kieren had his hand on Simon’s cock in seconds. He really had been close; it was only a matter of a minute before Simon was biting his lip and coming all over Kieren’s hand. He looked apologetic afterward, but Kieren just rolled his eyes, wiped his hand off on the towel, and pulled Simon back down on top of him. 

For several long minutes they stayed pressed together, breathing in tandem. Simon pressed more idle kisses into the crook of Kieren’s neck and along his shoulder. He seemed to be trying to kiss all of Kieren’s freckles, but Kieren was unfortunately very ticklish, so every few seconds he had to push Simon away to suppress a bout of giggles. 

Simon tried to go in for another shoulder kiss and made a very indignant squawking noise as Kieren nudged him away with a snort, and suddenly it struck him how utterly, uncomplicatedly happy he was. Even if just for the short period of time that they had been learning each other’s bodies, Kieren’s mind had ceased being hostile. For a while, everything had been quiet and calm. No one else had ever been able to give him that feeling. Kieren never once felt happy without also feeling guilty; like somehow he was unworthy of it, but there was none of that guilt now - just the feeling of being content and safe and _known_ in a way he had never been before. 

“I love you,” Kieren said, because it was true, and also because something about the pressure in his chest demanded it.

Simon pulled away to properly look him in the eye. They stared at each other for a few seconds, relearning the slopes and shadows that made up one another’s face, until Simon dipped in for another soft kiss and pulled away smiling. 

“I love you,” Simon said with equal surety. 

They spent the next several hours curled around each other in bed, doing nothing in particular but enjoying their shared space.

-

Victor was running out of time. Julian would not answer his calls. He had been foolish, he supposed, to place any amount of faith in someone who had just been an experiment, but there was no sense in lamenting it now. Subject 88 was astoundingly close to reanimation. His initial plan had been to bring it in beforehand, prep it, and present it to Silas for inspection, and reap the benefits of the Redfords’ funding. But without Julian’s support capturing it would prove too conspicuous. 

Subject 91 was a different story altogether. Victor never could have predicted the trajectory Genesis took in a body that had been brought back from the brink of death. If he could get Subject 91 in to the lab and take samples from it, he’d have what he needed to impress Silas. But people would notice if Subject 91 would go missing. Too many people. 

There was only one option left, then. 

“Mr Teller,” Victor called. 

Victor’s assistant, a squat young man with thin lips and remarkably beady eyes shuffled into the room. He may have looked like a rat, but he was loyal. More loyal than Julian, at any rate. “Yes, Mr Halperin?”

“Call Mr Redford and leave a message.”

“Regarding what, Sir?”

“Tell him I need to borrow a few of his most trusted men. And ensure that they’re discreet.” 

Mr Teller ducked his head in a nod so low that it was almost a bow, and scurried away to make the call. Victor pressed his fingers to his temple and sighed. It was a long shot - he knew it was. But if he wanted his plan to work, he couldn’t give up now. Subject 89 would have to do in a pinch. 

-

A few days later, they were all eating breakfast at the kitchen table for the first time in a while. It was quiet. Jem had left a while ago to go see Lisa, which seemed to be a more than common occurrence lately, and Kieren and Sue and Steve hadn’t said much since they had all sat down. 

Kieren’s mouth was full when Sue finally broke the silence. “The beating of the bounds is today,” she said casually. 

Kieren didn’t look up from his porridge. Simon squeezed his knee under the table. 

“I expect you and Jem are going to be there,” Steve added. He looked at Simon. “Yer welcome to come too, of course.” 

“Er,” Simon began.

“Simon’s busy,” Kieren interjected. “We both are.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed to a crease, but he looked more confused than upset. “What with?”

Kieren couldn’t think of a good way to say that he simply didn’t want to be there surrounded by people who hated who Rick had been and who Amy was. He wanted nothing to do with the townspeople; their intolerance was suffocating. 

Kieren could feel Sue’s eyes on him. There was silence for a moment before she said, “You said you had an errand to run for Amy, didn’t you, love?” 

Simon visibly relaxed beside him and Kieren swallowed down his gratitude. “Yeah. Yes. Sorry, dad.” 

“That’s all right,” Steve said, shrugging. “Your mum will be busy with the fete all day, but I’ll have Jem to keep me company during the march.”

“I’m sure it’ll be very... very lively this year, Steve,” Simon said politely. 

“Oh, I expect so,” Steve said. “After all, we have plenty to celebrate, don’t we?”

Kieren thought of Rick, dead and cold in the ground. He ducked his head and finished the rest of his porridge in silence. 

-

It was a fine day for what they were about to do. Clearly his disciples thought so too, because each and every one of them was buzzing like a livewire with excitement and eagerness. If Julian had been a lesser man, he might not have been able to contain them. But they all trusted him implicitly; at this point, the ULA was something akin to a hivemind. They were cohesive and strong as a unit - unbreakable, even. Or maybe not. Julian suspected that the next few hours would put that to the test. 

They spread out in lines, each standing behind their own tombstone or behind the tombstone of another risen who had been slaughtered by the living. In the early morning mist it almost felt like a disturbingly accurate recreation of the night of the Rising. The earth was soggy and malleable beneath their feet, the sky was a muddled gray, and the air was crisp and smelled of grave dirt and rotting flowers. 

They crouched in wait, each one with a blue oblivion pill tucked into their palms. It was the beating of the bounds march today, Julian knew. He had planned everything according to how big of a public spectacle he could made. If he had listened to Victor, his advice would have undoubtedly been to lay low, try to be unnoticeable until the last second, don’t make a scene. 

But they had the element of surprise, and Julian was willing to bet that the townspeople feared them enough to not ambush them right away. They would be confused, too. Not everyone knew about a second rising, and most people didn’t believe it either. Only real fanatics had caught onto it. Zoe, a young undead woman who spent more time in Roarton than the lot of them, told them all about Bill Macy and Vicar Oddie and his parish sermons. Those were the types of people that thrived in small towns like this. Their ideologies would be the tinder that helped spark a revolution. 

“I still don’t understand why you let Zoe go off in search of the First Risen,” Alana said to him. 

“She knows the town best,” Julian replied stiffly. 

Alana clenched her jaw and said nothing, but she was clearly still upset. The truth was that Alana, as his second in command, was too brash, too likely to jump the gun. He needed someone who could follow orders without getting ideas of their own. Zoe, proud and blunt as she could be, was not likely to deviate from the plan. She had been given an order and she intended to follow it. She was also expendable in a way that Alana was not. Finding a replacement for Zoe if something went wrong would not be difficult; followers like her were a dime a dozen. Alana, on the other hand, had a will as fiery and untameable as the bright red hair that fell loosely down her back.

“How much longer?” another voice piped up from behind. “I have schoolwork to finish.” It was little Lucy, young and wide-eyed but with a sense of iron-solid loyalty forged from naivete. 

“Soon,” Julian said. 

He checked his watch and felt an imaginary tingle of anticipation in his chest. Yes, soon. Soon it would be time. Soon the whole world would be watching. 

-

At Victor Halperin’s behest, two of Silas’ people - a man and a woman in black track suits - dug up Rick Macy’s grave. They drove his corpse to the treatment facility in Norfolk, and Victor performed an autopsy unbeknownst to anyone but three very well-paid (courtesy of an increasingly reluctant Silas Redford) doctors who specialised in neurology and neurosurgery.

Weston was out of the lab that day on holiday, which was fortunate because he would have asked too many questions; he didn’t know that some of their subjects had been coming back to life. No one knew except for Mr Teller and Julian, and that was only because Victor had thought the information would keep the latter from doing anything rash. 

Rick had not been nearly as far along in reanimating as Subject 88. He was, after all, treated much later than Subject 88, and his neural connectivity had not been as remarkable. But he was durable, and that interested Victor. The trauma his body had endured was immense. When Victor cut him open he was unsurprised to find that the army had returned his body damaged both inside and out. The cosmetic injury to his face was the least of it. It took hours to remove the bits of shrapnel from his lungs and repair the organs that had been ruptured in the blast. 

Last was the head wound. This was a much more delicate matter, and not one that Victor had been specifically trained for. He let the neurosurgeons take over for that part, and watched as Macy’s skull was taken apart like a jigsaw puzzle. The bullet was deep enough to have damaged the part of his brain that kept him reanimated, but it had not completely destroyed it. Genesis was incredibly resilient. Putting a bullet in Rick’s brain was akin to breaking the circuit conducting an electrical current. Once the objecting impeding the flow had been removed and circuit was repaired, the current began to flow again. 

After the bullet had been taken out and the damage repaired to the very best of their ability, Rick’s skull was fused back together, and his skin was knit back into place. Victor hooked his body up to several electrodes, strapped down his limbs, and laid him out on his stomach to inject the latest batch of neurotriptyline that him and Weston had been working on. It was twice as powerful than the original serum they had concocted, and it would speed the healing process as well. Once finished, Victor went into the control room, switched on the electroconvulsive device, and watched as Rick Macy’s corpse spasmed on the operating table.

The irony of the _Frankenstein_ parallel was not lost on Victor.

-

Amy had been out a lot with Philip lately -- to mini-golf, to the village fete, and now here, to the cemetery. She hadn’t brought anyone else to this grave. No one was there to remember Dorothy Dyer except for her. They stood together in front of her tombstone together, Phil with his hands clasped nervously in front of him, blathering on about his hobbies like he was in a job interview. 

“He’s also a very good sportsman, Nan,” Amy cut in cheekily. 

Philip blushed and said under his breath, “Amy! You’re embarrassing me.” 

“Oh, so modest!” Amy teased lightly. 

They laughed. It felt unspeakably good to be sharing this side of herself with someone at last. She knew Nan would have liked Philip, too, though she might have had something to say about how shy he could be. 

There was a chill in the air that Amy marvelled at feeling against her skin. She breathed in and felt her lungs fill to the brim with clean air. Then she exhaled and-- and--

Her mouth fell slack. She looked at Phil, who saw the expression on her face and immediately asked, “Are you okay?”

“I-- I think...” Amy looked down at herself, disbelieving. “I think my _heart_...” 

Phil put a hand on her chest. Amy exhaled again in disbelief, mouth and eyes wide as saucers. A smile, small and quiet, began to tug at the corners of Phil’s mouth. Amy unconsciously mirrored him. 

“It’s beating,” he said softly, eyes full of wonder. 

A smile like daybreak finally cracked across Amy’s face. They stared at each other, giggling like fools. Amy felt it now, throughout her entire body, an incessant pulse that spread from her chest to every single cell in her body. A heartbeat. She had a heartbeat again. 

Then, from behind them, a familiar voice calling, “Amy Dyer!”

Amy spun in time to see Maxine Martin approaching with something shiny and silver in one hand. A scissor. Time slowed to a half-measure. Amy’s heartbeat was a warning now, a harbinger. She blinked. The sky was grey. Her eyes were wet for the first time in years. 

“You are the first and the last,” Maxine said. 

And Amy felt her heart like a drum beating out its final notes in her chest as Maxine brought the scissor down as hard as she could. 

-

Lisa didn’t want to go to the march, but Jem had insisted. It was hard to refuse her. Besides the fact that Jem was one of two friends (the other being Simon, who was _always_ busy with Kieren) she had these days, she could also be very persuasive when she wanted to be. And though Lisa was loathe to admit it, she didn’t want to disappoint Jem. 

That was how Lisa found herself milling about in a group of Roarton residents in the early morning mist, all of them looking ready to march straight into battle. Lisa didn’t have a weapon on her, which was unconventional, but it didn’t seem right. Not to mention the fact that her counselor had advised her not to carry around a weapon anymore. _You don’t need it. The war’s over, sweetheart_ , she had been told. She repeated that to herself every day as she got dressed and left the house without the familiar weight of the colt in her waistband. 

“They want you to lead the charge, y’know,” Jem said. 

They were standing a ways off from the rest of the group. It wasn’t quite time to leave yet, but the sense of anticipation in the air was thick. Even the man carrying the drum, who had the most tedious and taxing job of them all, looked like he was itching to get started. 

Lisa grimaced and replied, “I’d rather not.” 

“These people will settle for nothing less than a war hero. And all of the other former-HVF members are either MIA or dead.”

“I’m not proud of what I did in the HVF,” Lisa said. “I don’t want to go around acting like I’m an honorable person when I’m really just a-- just a murderer.” 

“Hey.” Jem put a hand on her arm. Her eyes were grey-blue and sad in the dismal morning light. “You helped keep us all safe. We needed you back then.” 

Lisa shrugged off Jem’s platitudes, but in truth they made her feel a little better. Jem _always_ managed to make her feel better, in fact, even though the same words coming from anyone else would have meant nothing to Lisa. 

She took a deep breath. “Okay. But just this once. After the march, I’m done with the war hero act for good, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Jem smiled cheekily. “You’ll always be _my_ war hero, though.” 

Lisa rolled her eyes and shoved Jem gently in the shoulder. “Maybe in your dreams, Jem.” 

A few minutes later they were lined up and marching. Lisa picked her way across the dirt roads as slowly and unenthusiastically as possible. Whenever she slowed down too much, which was often, Jem would give her a little kick in the back of her boots or brushed against her arm in an obvious way that said ‘ _hurry up, dickhead_. Lisa was not sure that she would have made it more than a few meters without Jem urging her on. 

Ironically, it was Jem who eventually stopped her in her tracks. Lisa’s head was down, so she had missed what was right in front of her. She looked up and saw a group of people blocking the road up ahead. But they weren’t just people, they were-- 

They were standing in a horizontal line at the entrance to the cemetery, hands linked together. The people behind Jem erupted into angry murmurs. 

Jem stepped out from behind her and took Lisa by both shoulders. “All right?” 

Lisa didn’t respond. She couldn’t tear her eyes from the pale eyes of the undead staring at them all unflinchingly. 

“Lisa!” Jem said. Then, more quietly, “ _Lis_.”

Lisa blinked and looked up. Jem’s eyes were wide with worry. Behind them, the voices were getting louder. Discontent grew as thick as smoke in the air.

A woman with a weapon almost as tall as herself asked shrilly, “What the hell is all this?”

“No living allowed on sacred ground,” one of the undead barked. She had long red hair and a pinched expression, like a frustrated elf. 

The townspeople went from murmuring to yelling, then. There were cries of “Get out!” and “You don’t belong here!”

Lisa’s heart squeezed in her chest. Jem’s hands were still anchoring her in place but the world was spinning rapidly regardless. She couldn’t do this. She didn’t have it in her anymore. But she couldn’t get the words out to say so. All she could hear was Bill’s voice echoing in her head, his lips curled into a nasty smile just for her. _Yer smarter than the lot of them. You can do this, sweetheart._

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe -- in and out, steady, like her psychologist had advised her. It half-worked, but her pulse still sped sickeningly.  
Jem pulled away from her. “I’ll handle this,” she was saying. “Don’t worry, Lis, okay?” She turned to face the townspeople who were all still jeering, about ready to start a riot. “I’ve got this!” she yelled at them. 

Lisa watched in a daze as Jem walked right up to the undead, fearless and-- and beautiful, Lisa thought. Whatever Jem said to the small army before them was drowned out by the dull rushing of blood in Lisa’s ear. She tuned back in only in time to hear the swelling chant of the undead as it began to fill the cemetery: 

“Rise. Rise. Rise. Rise. Rise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to all who are still reading. I've made a little promise to myself that I'll finish this story by the date it was first published (August 8th). Let's see if I can manage it!


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